Here to Fall
by GaelicShadow
Summary: Tyler/Allison aka Mallory Set in 2011, it's been 3 years since Allison left New Orleans and she meets Tyler in a NYC bar. Both broken, can they keep what they might have found?
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Rated M for swearing and sex in later chapters. Allison's, because her real name is Allison, yo, not Mallory, life was not/is not always sunshine and moonbeams, so there are mature themes dealing with stripping and prostitution, and anything in the movie is fair game, and...other stuff not in the movie.**  
**

A/N: Crossing these two took some skewing of the original timelines, and it was easier to skew Tyler's than it was Allison's. So the timeline is current or starting in 2010. For Allison, it's been two years since movie-time, so she left NOLA two years ago. Tyler was just moved to fit within those time constraints. So, it's 2010 for him as well (because this is not _The Lake House_), he's still just about to turn 22, and most other canon stands, except of course, he didn't die in 9/11, and there will be no Tyler death in this story. That would make me very sad.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor am I profiting in any way besides my torrid fantasies.

* * *

****

Chapter One 

I hated Aidan. He was a horrible roommate. He ate all the food and moved things to places that he didn't recall. He didn't clean up after himself at all (which, I was lax in this area, too, on occasion), he spilled beer on furniture, and I _hated_ when he did _this_: when he somehow talked me into going out when I didn't want to in the first place, and then we wound up in loud bars, with equally horrible music and mediocre beer, and a hangover that lasted long past the morning after when I'd wake up next to some faceless chick whose name I didn't know in the first place, much less could I be expected to remember. I suppose that's why I loved him, too. He was a good friend, even if he was a horrible roommate.

Hell, maybe I was the horrible one. I didn't like to socialize anymore; there was no point. He'd made some grand production about going out tonight because I'd become an introvert and used to go out with him every night of the week. It just all seemed so pointless. Going out now was pointless, inane, and…vacant. It felt vacant. I felt vacant here. I could do this at home with more enthusiasm and less social requirement. But Aidan looked like he was having fun being himself, and I knew he was only trying to help in his own way.

The girls we tended to meet, the faceless ones whose names I didn't know to begin with, much less remember, didn't interest me. They were shallow and vapid, and they were here because they'd been dragged by a friend, or were as mindless as Aidan. That was being overly harsh. He wasn't mindless; he just liked having a good time. The problem was, I didn't think this was a good time anymore. It was just more of the same. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy a random fuck; it was just more work than I wanted to put forth tonight. Not that the girls we tended to meet required _work, _either. I was just tired of it all. They were all the same. Fuck it. He'd managed to latch onto these two girls near the bar and was thoroughly engaging a blonde that looked way out of his league. That left me with the other one.

Her hair was an unidentifiable color; something between red, and brown, and black, and auburn, and she looked about at excited to be here as I did. I pulled a cigarette out and lit it, tossing the match into an ashtray on the bar and glanced at her. She was watching me, watching my mouth specifically, but it wasn't in the way I thought it was going to be. Ordinarily, when a girl looked at your mouth that way, she's got something on her mind, but she seemed transfixed on the cigarette. I smirked and blew out a puff of smoke, already trying to stuff down the feeling of annoyance if this chick was some non-smoking advocate. It was a fucking bar! If she expected to come into a back-alley bar in New York and not leave with the smell of stale beer and smoke on her clothes, she'd come to the wrong place entirely. I held out the pack to her, raising an eyebrow in an offering way, but she waved me off, mumbling something.

It was too noisy in here to mumble. Jesus Christ, she was going to have to speak up.

"What?" I asked, leaning toward her.

She was fidgeting. Like, nearly vibrating right next to me, like she was a ball of energy just waiting to explode, and yet she _mumbled_.

"I said, I quit." Her mouth was nearly to my ear by the time she uttered it, loud enough that I could hear over the music this time.

I backed up and studied her a minute and then nodded. "That sucks. I keep promising my sister I'll quit, but I never do," I said in that half-shouting-while-trying-to-be-conversational way you had to adopt in bars, and I hoped that she'd catch on and do the same.

She was a tiny thing. Like, seriously tiny. She looked like she needed a decent meal, or fifty. And then there was the vibrating/fidgeting thing. I wasn't sure if it was nervousness or, fuck me, for all I knew, she could be high as a kite. She didn't seem high, though, just high strung or something.

"Your sister?" she said, her eyebrows pulling down.

I nodded, "Yeah. She's twelve," I said in way of explanation.

She nodded back to me, her face still puzzled. Honestly, I had no idea why I'd even told her that. I didn't normally do family stories about my kid sister and her disapproval of my smoking habit on the first meeting, or ever, because there normally wasn't a second meeting. It's not like this was a date, or that it would ever lead to one.

"Can I get you a drink?" I asked. Might as well be hospitable for our one meeting here. She eyed me warily. I took another long drag from the cigarette and stared back at her. My eyebrows rose in question. "It wasn't a marriage proposal, I just thought you might like a drink."

She let out a deep breath, "Yeah, ok. I'll have a Diet Coke." Thank God her volume had risen.

"A Diet Coke?" I asked, smirking again. She nodded. I waved the bartender over, "Can I get a Diet Coke?"

The bartender sat it on the bar without even looking at me again and I handed it to her. She took a tentative sip from the straw, as if I'd spiked it or something in the three-point-two seconds I'd even had the glass in my hand, and averted her gaze from me. Her eyes darted to the door for a second and then back to me. "Thanks."

I nodded back, watching her again. This was odd. And not at all like the usual scenario. For one, she was totally sober, and ordinarily, a few drinks more and we'd be well on our way out the door. Two, this whole nervous, fidgeting, look-to-the-door and did-he-spike-my-drink thing was sort of a big, fat, red, blaring alarm. And I should know better than to stick around blaring alarms. It normally led to trouble and I got myself in enough of that on my own. Then I started wondering if something with me was just off because, I thought I was doing a pretty decent job of looking normal and not psychotic. I'd been pleasant and offered her a drink, and I didn't think I was giving her any reason to find me dangerous or run-for-the-door worthy. I could be charming when I wanted to be, and I wasn't throwing it all over her, but I hadn't been a complete dick, either. She was strange. I didn't normally have to talk this much.

Hmm. "So, you from New York?" I asked, grabbing my beer from the bar and putting the cigarette out.

She shook her head, her gaze bouncing from her friend and Aidan and then back to me.

I chuckled, "So where are you from, then?"

"Originally Florida."

"Originally?"

"I've been around."

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

Jesus, this was like pulling fucking teeth. "Anywhere I might know?"

She looked bored with this conversation, or annoyed. She let out a breath and looked down, shuffling. "Yeah, I was in New Orleans for a while. Texas. Vegas." She shrugged, "Now I'm here."

"What brings you to New York?"

"What brings _you_ to New York?" she parroted back, and a mite snippily.

I chuckled, "Born and bred." Wow. I was so not getting laid with this chick tonight. I wasn't used to this amount of effort. It was kind of refreshing.

She nodded, looking at her friend again.

"You late for something?" I asked, casually leaning on the bar.

She sighed again. "No. I just…" she waved her free hand at me, "forget it."

I watched her gaze bounce again. "If you're worried about your friend, Aidan is harmless."

Her gaze fixed on me. Holy shit. She'd never actually looked me in the eye before. Her eyes were quite striking, demanding and accusing all at once. And they were green. Even in this shitty, dim lighting, with the stupid bar signs and the strobes and the smoke, I could make out the color easily. When under the scrutiny of that gaze, I wasn't sure I wanted it. Part of me wanted to look away. "And what about you? What are you?"

I smirked, "Oh, I'm dangerous. Me, you definitely want to watch out for."

She cracked a smile. That was a first, too. She looked incredibly younger when she smiled. It suited her. "So, you're from New York, huh?"

I nodded, "Yep."

"And you're dangerous?"

I nodded, "Yep."

She snorted, shaking her head. "I don't think you know what danger is."

"I don't?"

"No. What part of New York are you from?"

Oh, she was playing dirty now. I didn't answer.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You do this a lot? Come down to these bars and pick up chicks?"

"Your friend doesn't seem to mind," I nodded to where she was hanging all over Aidan.

"My friend knows how to hustle just as well as I do."

"Is that what you're doing here? Hustling?"

"Look, just forget it, ok? You seem like… Thanks for the drink." She walked over to her friend and started prying her off of Aidan.

Aidan was incredulous and confused. "What? Where are you going? I thought we had a connection. Don't go!" He chased after them. Oh, Christ.

This night was turning into a clusterfuck of epic proportions and I could have just been at home, happily drunk by now. Fucking Aidan. I threw a few bills down on the bar and ran to catch up before he got himself robbed in an alleyway by two hustler chicks or some shit. He had the worst taste in women.

"Aidan!" I yelled. "Fucking stop!"

Of course he acted like he hadn't even heard me, running right out the door and following them down the alley beside the bar, lamenting over their connection and their plans to go back to our place.

"Fucking Christ, Aidan," I said, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and jerking him back just when he'd reached them. "Get a grip."

He shrugged me off, "Ladies! Come on!" He ran a few more steps. "Candi with an 'I,' wait!"

Oh, God. I was never letting him drag me into a night like this again. Candi? Jesus. "Aidan, you dumbass."

By the time they actually stopped and I caught up to Aidan fawning all over the blonde, I had half a mind to just let her have him. Let her take him for whatever he wanted to give away. They'd probably be living in our apartment by the time she was done with him. And it'd probably serve him right. Her friend, my witty conversational partner, now just looked bored, and resigned, and tired. I knew the feeling.

So we both just kind of stood there with our hands shoved in our pockets while Aidan and _Candi_ continued this rather pointless and disgusting display of flirting or…whatever it was called that they were doing.

She was back to the nervous fidgeting, chewing her nails and looking down the alley. Exits. I think she was looking for exits. There was a clatter down the alley and she jumped slightly. I turned my head and watched as a few guys walked in front of a van and the van driver honked, stopping just short of driving over them. And then the driver and his passenger proceeded to get out of the van and start to beat the shit out of the guys that just happened to walk in their path. I wasn't a Good Samaritan; I was just pissed off that this night had gone from bad to worse to clusterfuck, and I was walking toward the crowd before I really even knew I'd started. My fist was in the air and flying down on the van driver in the next instant, and it all got kind of hazy from there. There was pain in my knuckles and gravel digging into my cheek, and blood in my mouth and my ears were ringing, and I was in handcuffs lined up next to Aidan and the assholes who started the whole thing.

The cop who was handling all of this was a real prick. They let us go after, shockingly, _Candi _informed them that we had only been trying to help and weren't directly involved to start with. I thought Aidan was being stupid; maybe she wasn't out to hustle him because it'd be a pretty elaborate scheme to keep it up that long. My Diet Coke friend was just staring at me with this completely perplexed look on her face. Her eyes were all squinty and her mouth was set in a line, and I really didn't care what she thought, but the staring was getting a little old.

Once I was out of the cuffs, the prick cop was still spouting off and was going to send all of them to lockup. I attempted to right his assumption, since they'd let us go, and let them know that it had been the van driver and his friend who had started the whole thing. He wasn't interested in what I had to say at all. And that pissed me off. I will admit, it was my own fault, because you shouldn't ever grab a cop. I will also admit, I tend to do things sometimes without thinking them through. However, the one-eighty degree turnaround I got and the slam to the police cruiser windshield was a little excessive, in my opinion. The huge gash that sprouted over my eye would agree. Pain shot through my head and blood smeared all over the windshield while he cuffed me again and reread me the same rights that I'd just been read.

And suddenly, all I could hear was shouting. And it sounded like it was coming from my previously barely-chatty friend. She was tiny, but holy shit was she spunky. She got all up in the cop's face, screaming, "What the fuck is the wrong with you? He was just trying to tell you what happened! You fucking cops always think you know the truth. You're so wrong. You're so fucking wrong! It can be right there in front of you and you don't even notice it."

She made her own fatal mistake when she shoved him. She should have learned from my previous example that those particular moves were disastrous for any shot at not getting your ass thrown in the can. They had to forcibly remove her, hauling her off while she kicked and screamed.

She looked incredibly sexy when she was angry, her indescribable hair all a mess. I could still hear her yelling about "fucking cops" and kicking at the seats in the cruiser they'd dumped her in as they shoved me into the back of another. Aidan was shoved in the other side, and I rested my head back while they drove us to the police station. I had no idea what prompted her outburst. Or why the hell she gave a damn about the cop busting my shit all up. She was so incredibly strange. I smiled all the way to the station.

They put us all in holding cells, wisely separating the groups. My head was killing me and I really wished that I would have drank more, because maybe then it wouldn't have hurt so much. I think I resembled that of an accident victim after a crash; my shirt was covered in variously red-colored patches of blood and I could feel the bruises forming everywhere. Why I did this kind of shit, I couldn't explain even to myself. The pain was oddly liberating, though. It was different. Alive. It was a break from the mundane sameness. I supposed that the next time I wanted a release from the monotony, there were easier ways.

Aidan was making his phone call and I finally sat down on one of the benches near the side. I could see into the cells across from us; the asshole van driver and his buddy yelling shit, still, and the next cell where Candi and…fuck, I didn't even know her name, were being held. Candi was sitting on the bench, looking appropriately bored, and my cop-loving buddy was pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

"Hey," I called.

Her head jerked in my direction but she didn't stop pacing. "Hey," she called back, not looking at me.

"My name is Tyler."

"Yeah, I know. Your friend was yelling it repeatedly when you were going after that cop."

I snorted, "Right. Are you gonna tell me your name, or do I have to ask?"

"Mal – Allison. My name is Allison."

I watched Candi's leg stop bouncing on the bench and they shared a look.

"Nice to meet you."

She made some vague gesture back to me, but I supposed her feelings on meeting me were clouded by the fact that she was in the clink now.

"That thing with the cop…" I started, "What was that exactly?"

She shrugged, "I dunno. What was yours?"

I shrugged back, standing and leaning against the bars. "Maybe I like to push things."

"Maybe I don't like cops."

Aidan came back then, and a random patrol cop told me I could have my phone call, but that was not happening. There was really only person I could call and I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Aidan started yelling all sorts of shit at me that I really didn't need to hear. And I really didn't feel as bad about this particular jail episode as some of the other shit I'd gotten him into. As far as I was concerned, this night was entirely his fault. He finished the yelling about the same time that my father's lawyer showed up. Fucking Aidan.

"Yeah, that's right. I called your dad."

Well, fuck me.

I walked out of the cell and craned back to look at my cop-disliking friend. Allison. Our eyes met for a brief second but then she was gone again, back to pacing. We completed all the out-processing shit, and the lawyer my father had sent was signing all the necessary paperwork so we could get the hell out of here. Aidan was still livid and yelling at me in hushed tones, but I tuned him out this time.

As we were walking out, I stopped the lawyer. "Hey, can you do me a favor?"

He looked at me, guarded, like I was going to ask him to get me out of a murder charge or something.

"There were two girls with us who got dragged in with everyone. Can you bail them out, too?"

He regarded me a minute. "Are you turning into a humanitarian, Tyler?"

"Someone should bail them out. It's kind of…my fault they're here, so…" I didn't say please. I wouldn't. I would never say please to my father, or one of his many minions.

He turned around without saying another word and we started for the door. Aidan was still on about shit.

"Aidan."

"What?"

"Shut up."

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

"Not really. And I don't really give a shit, either. You're the one who dragged me out tonight, and out into that alley. So, really, it's your fault."

He scoffed, "You are such a dick." He seemed to notice that I'd stopped after we got outside of the police station. "What are we doing just waiting here? Let's go."

"In a minute."

"Fuck, Tyler. Are you waiting for her?"

I didn't answer.

"What do you think, man? She's gonna be so grateful that you that she jumps you right here on the steps of the police station? Are you still trying to get laid out of this?"

I didn't answer that either. Truthfully, I had no idea what the fuck we were waiting around for. What I was expecting. Was that all I wanted out of this? To end the night with a bang with her? Was I looking for something else? I think, mostly, she just confused me. Surprised me. She was different, and I couldn't deny that it was appealing. There was something about her. Something about the way she watched me, looked at me. There was such a profound sense of…loss. And I knew something about that. I don't know. I just knew that I didn't want it to be the last time I ever saw her. And if I just walked away and didn't look back, I'd never find her again.

She and Candi came barreling out of the doors, and she seemed genuinely surprised when we were still there. The lawyer followed a few steps behind and nodded to me on his way to the car. She and Candi shared a look, and I made myself as unassuming and non-threatening as possible.

I tried for a smile. "You ok?"

She nodded. "You?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I dismissed. "I just wanted to make sure before we took off."

She looked rather amused, "Yeah, we're used to taking care of ourselves."

I shrugged, "Well, you would have been in there all night otherwise."

She laughed. Like, genuinely laughed at me. "It's not the first night either of us has spent in jail."

Ungrateful little bitch. "What's your problem? I was just trying to make it right."

"By what? Having your daddy bail us out? Does he always bail you out, Tyler? Have you ever actually had to take care of yourself?"

"You don't know anything about me. Where do you get off making judgments about me?"

"You were judging me the minute you laid eyes on me with your cocky smirk, and buying drinks. It doesn't always work that way, Tyler."

I really wished she would stop saying my name like that. It was hard to concentrate on being mad at her when she kept using my name. "I should have left your ass to rot in there, I don't even know why I bothered."

"Fuck you, Tyler. You know dick about my ass. And I was just fine waiting it out in there. What were you expecting? How did you think this was going to go when we came out?"

"I didn't –"

"Did you think I was just going to fall at your feet and blow you right here? Your father's lawyer doesn't impress me."

"Fucking Christ. I didn't mean any of it like that."

"You didn't want anything in return for bailing us out?"

God, she was standing there with her hands on her hips, all pissed off and yelling, and saying my name, and why was she even affecting me this way? I hadn't argued with a chick in years. That's why. It was so familiar and pointless, and no matter how fucked up it was, I'd missed it. Just the interaction. Interrupting me and passionate about whatever the fuck she thought I did wrong. "Maybe a little gratitude, but, no, I didn't expect anything."

"That is such bullshit. If all you wanted was gratitude, you would have fucking left."

"God, you are so infuriating." I paused, just letting her seethe there for a few seconds. "Do you wanna get breakfast? Can I buy you breakfast?"

"What?" she looked surprised again.

"Breakfast. You do eat, right?"

"I…yeah. I eat."

"You look like you should eat more. I know a place. Come on."

I turned and started to walk, completely ignoring the look Aidan was shooting me. He could fuck off and go home. I only stopped to check if she was following when I reached the end of the block. And sure enough, she was a few steps behind me, but catching up. Candi wasn't with her and Aidan appropriately fucked off. I must have passed the test then – the one that she deemed me not a psycho if she could have breakfast with me. We didn't talk the rest of the way, just walked in silence. I slowed my steps when I realized that one of mine was like two of hers and she was almost jogging next to me. I held the door open for her when we got to the restaurant and she looked at me oddly again. I could sense a few things here: she wasn't used to gentlemanly charm, she found it odd, and she was extremely distrusting.

We took a booth with a window view and she looked outside while I studied her instead of the menu. I ordered coffee and she had juice. I ordered pancakes while she got eggs and toast. Why that was fascinating to me, I had no idea, but I found myself cataloguing and filing everything she did. I'm not sure what we were waiting for, but most of breakfast was silent.

She finally broke, though, looking right at me again with those fiery green eyes, "Why are you doing this?"

I shrugged, "I like our conversation."

She smirked, "You're incredibly weird."

"I know. You're not much better."

She sighed, looking out the window again. "I know."

"Can I see you again?"

Her head swiveled back to me. "What do you mean?"

What did she mean what did I mean? "What do you mean, what do I mean?" That was brilliant, Tyler. "I want to know if I can see you again."

She struggled for a minute. "You mean…you want…a…like, a date?"

"Yeah. Like a date."

More contemplating out the window, this time complete with lip chewing.

"Is it really that huge of a decision? Am I really that bad?" I teased. At least, I hoped I was teasing.

Her eyes jerked to me, "I…I don't know."

"You don't know if I'm that bad?"

"I don't know if we can go on a date."

"Why?"

"Just…because."

"But I'd like to see you again."

"Yeah."

"Am I completely misreading this?"

"What do you mean?"

Jesus. "I mean, do you not want to see me again, too? If you don't, then I can accept that. I just thought… you seemed to…" I sighed. "It's fine. Never mind. I'm sorry I asked. And I'm sorry that I got you arrested." I grabbed my wallet and threw enough on the table to cover the meal and a tip. "I'll leave you alone." I got up from the booth and forced myself to walk to the door without turning back. I took a deep breath when I got out the door and grabbed for the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, lighting one and taking a huge drag before I started walking back to the apartment.

That was, by far, one of the strangest encounters I'd ever had with a girl. She was completely incomprehensible. I couldn't figure her out. Which was probably why I was so intrigued. It sucked. And seemed like an even huger waste of time that the entire night had not had one positive turn. I'd totally had experience with flirty player women. They strung you along and got a thrill out of leaving you hanging on the string. That wasn't what she was doing. I didn't think she was even capable of stringing really. She seemed alternately flirty one minute and confused the next. So fucking odd. If all she wanted to do was–

"Tyler!"

I turned at my name and there she was. Running after me. I threw the butt down and stubbed it out, waiting for her.

"Look, I…" she was fumbling already. "I don't do…this." She made a gesture between the two of us.

"Do…what?"

"This. Date. I don't date."

"Ever?"

"Not so much, no."

"Is that, like, a personal choice or?" I left it opened ended.

"More like a circumstance. I just don't have a lot of experience with— I wouldn't know what I'm doing."

"Well there's no manual," I offered.

"No, but I have zero experience with…" she sighed. "I don't even know if that's something that I can…"

I waited for an answer that didn't come. She was bouncing again, nervous, fidgety. Always fidgety. She'd pulled the crusts off her toast through the entire breakfast. It was kind of cute. I didn't mean to make it worse, but I just had no idea what she wanted me to say here. "Do you want to try then or not?"

She was debating, I could tell. She finally looked at me. "Where's your place?"

Not what I was expecting. "I'm not sure I should tell a confessed hustler where I live."

She rolled her eyes. "If I wanted to hustle you, you'd already be missing shit."

I smirked, "This way."

I was happy it was only a few blocks to my apartment building. Truthfully, I was getting pretty tired. It'd been a helluva night, and the whole getting my face rearranged thing was wearing on me. She was silent on the walk; I lit a cigarette to pass the time, perplexed by the latest turn of events here. Apparently interested, yet claimed not to know what the hell she was doing. I really didn't know how to take her.

Thankfully Aidan was gone when we arrived, and the grand tour took about half a minute. She nodded appropriately and looked mostly with detachment as we moved through the apartment. If she was casing the joint, which I didn't think she was, she wasn't doing a very good job of it.

We ended up back in what served as our living room. "Yeah. So, that's the place in a nutshell." I rubbed at my hair. "Hey, I'm gonna take a quick shower, rinse all of the… well, the blood off. Did you want to take one?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Ok. I'll just be a few minutes. We don't have any silver or china, but my guitar'd probably be worth something to pawn. Beyond that, you'd have to dig for change in the cushions," I teased.

She chuckled.

"So make yourself at home. There's stuff in the fridge and…ya know, just…whatever. I'll be back in a few."

She nodded, chewing on her lip. She looked like she was gonna bolt.

"You gonna be here when I get out?" I asked.

She smiled softly and turned to me. "I think so."

I nodded. "Good. I hope so."

I left her to bolt or stay, walking into the bathroom and turning on the water quickly. I wasn't in there long, so that didn't leave me a lot of time to think, which was good. I had no idea what I was doing here, but plugging along seemed to be going ok. I really didn't know what to expect from the rest of the…day, either. Crap. It was morning. I hoped she didn't have to work. I was off today, and it wasn't like I had to go to class, I was auditing it anyway, but I didn't know what other plans she had for the day. I'd have to ask when I got out of the shower.

I toweled off just as quickly, and was relieved to catch a glimpse of her still in the living room when I made my way back to my room to throw on some other clothes. I was still buttoning up the new shirt when I came back to the living room. She was sitting in the chair that faced the couch, the chair closest to the door.

"Hey," I said quietly.

"Hi."

"I'm glad you stayed."

She shrugged.

"I was thinking while I was in the shower."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you don't have somewhere you need to be, do you? Like work or class, or something?"

She chuckled humorlessly, "No. I don't have anywhere else to be at the moment. I work…nights."

"Oh. Ok. Good. I don't work today. And I can blow off class."

"Class, huh? I didn't peg you for a student."

I chuckled. "No? Why is that?"

She shrugged again, "I don't know. I just didn't think you were the type."

"The type?"

She waved me off, "Forget it. I didn't mean it in a bad way."

That was kind of offensive. And judgmental. "Hmm."

"I just meant…I don't know what I meant," she said, looking down at her hands and picking at the hole in the knee of her jeans.

I guess I shouldn't really be that offended. I wasn't a typical student. "It's ok. You're half-right anyway." I turned to the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice, taking a glass down from the cupboard. "I worked out this auditing thing, so I don't really get grades."

She didn't say anything to that beyond a noncommittal sound and that kind of annoyed me. It felt like more judgment. I drank the whole glass before I turned back to her and then leaned on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. Her gaze bounced around the room before it landed on me.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked, still hospitable even with the judgments.

"You're bleeding," she said in lieu of answering me, pointing to the cut above my eye.

My hand shot up, my fingertips grazing over the cut gingerly. They came away with a smear of red. "Don't need stitches, my ass," I grumbled, turning again to find something to press against it.

"Do you have something to clean it with?" She was suddenly, like, right behind me and, shit, she should make more noise when she moved. She scared the shit out of me.

"Uhm. Maybe in the bathroom," I pointed. She followed me in there and I pointed to what functioned as our medicine cabinet, which had far more junk and less medicine in it than was probably normal. She rooted around in there for a while and pulled out some stuff.

"Washcloth?"

I chuckled, "We might have one. We're not big into washcloths in this apartment." I rummaged through the stack of towels on the counter and managed to find one that looked halfway clean near the bottom of the stack and handed it to her. She ran it under the tap and then turned to me expectantly.

"You might want to sit down."

I nodded dumbly and turned to leave the bathroom. She led the way to my bedroom and gestured for me to sit on the bed. She stepped in between my legs and, hello, more surprise, because I didn't think she was even that interested, much less wanted to get in my space. She pulled away the paper towel that I had pressed against it and pressed the washcloth there instead. Some of that shit stung like a motherfucker, and I hissed while she held it against the cut.

She chuckled, "Don't be a baby."

"Well, fuck, it hurts."

"Yeah, it's a pretty good one." Wow, no sympathy there. She was still gentle, even with the lack of sympathy, and incredibly thorough. When she was done cleaning it, she backed up slightly. "Do you have any Super Glue?"

"Super Glue?"

"Yes, Super Glue."

"Not on me." What the hell? "What did you want Super Glue for?"

She rolled her eyes, this strange posture of chewing on her fingernail and bouncing at the same time being instantly adopted again. "For your head, stupid." She pointed to the cut. "You're not really supposed to use it for deep cuts, but that can't get stitches anymore, either. The Super Glue would hold it together. Make the bleeding stop."

Huh. Wasn't she just a font of first aid knowledge? "Oh. There might be some in the drawer in the kitchen," I said, getting up and searching through the pounds of junk that littered the drawer. It was a tiny little tube and incredibly old, probably well past its expiration date, but might as well. I handed it to her as I sat down again on the bed.

She stepped right into me again, tipping my head back this time and methodically applying the glue like it was the frosting on a decorative fucking cake or something. Her brows pulled down in concentration and she went slowly and carefully, and her hand was cupping my face to hold it in place while the heel of her hand braced on my cheek so she could glue the cut neatly. The fabric of her shirt was pressing into me and she was incredibly warm. Her hand lingered on my face before she backed up again and put the cap on the glue. She tossed it onto the nightstand and then turned back to me and, shit, she was totally gonna kiss me. Except, she didn't. Instead, she leaned over and her lips made a tiny 'o,' and she blew cool air over the glue. Fucking hell.

My eyes fluttered closed and my hands kind of shot out on their own and landed on her hips, and everything about her was tiny and petite and perfect, and she stepped into me again and I pulled her forward, and she felt amazing. Her hands came back to my face and my head was tipped up, and when I opened my eyes again, she was watching me.

I don't know what she was looking for, but I felt the need to ask, "Can I kiss you?"

She nodded after a second, slowly, tentatively. And I tried to remember that she told me she didn't do this, she didn't date, and maybe she just didn't have experience with how these things tended to go. I let my hands wander up her back and pulled her closer, wanting her body flush with mine. She went easily enough and wound up with a knee bent on the bed, right in between my legs. Fuck. I moved a hand up to cup the back of her neck and pulled her head down, her eyes calculating and still watching, and it felt like it took forever before our lips were touching. Her lips were amazingly soft and the kiss was almost chaste; just a press together and I backed off. She stayed where she was, though, and I took that to mean I could do it again, pressing a little longer, a little harder. She fell into the rhythm quickly, and if she was new to this, I wanted her to be comfortable before I did anything else. I started moving my lips against hers, and she was either an excellent liar or a really fast learner.

I urged her to move closer, to sit on my lap, and she hesitated a minute; long enough that I thought I'd pushed too far, too fast already, but she relented quickly and straddled me, her hands landing in my hair and, good God, I hadn't kissed someone this long, this thoroughly in a long time. Most of the late-night-won't-remember-you-in-the-morning kind of encounters weren't this drawn out. It was still fun and satisfying, but it was a much faster pace and less comprehensive. There was kissing, sure, but it was more frenzied and less delicate. This felt delicate. Feeling her like this, her breasts pressed against my chest and the rest of her body in contact with mine, it was amazing. I reveled in the feel of her under my fingers. Her skinny arms and slender body, slim legs pressing against my thighs, her little hands combing through my hair. I leaned back on my elbows slowly, giving her time and space if she wanted to stop, but she followed me right down to the bed, shifting off of my lap, but not stopping our lips.

I was about to turn onto my side so the kissing could continue comfortably for both of us when she pressed her forehead into mine and stopped kissing me momentarily. Her hand ran down the button line of my shirt and stopped right at the top of my jeans. How her little hand got inside there that quickly, I have no idea, but her deft little fingers were on my cock faster than I could even blink.

What the hell was this now? She seemed to have a fair grasp on what she was doing, so what was this shit about not dating? She started stroking immediately, my cock filling out in her hand. Her forehead left mine and I missed the pressure, I missed feeling the hot puffs of air that left her mouth and traveled over my face. She wasn't kissing me anymore, either, and her hand, while amazingly attentive, felt very mechanical. She knew what she was doing with my dick. She knew how to stroke, how much pressure to apply, but it felt very detached and controlled. Like she was just trying to get me off. And…I mean, I could realize this was the case, but I didn't know why, or if I was just reading more into it than I should have been. So I just let her, coming with my pants still on and her little hand stroking every last bit of my release out.

Now, I wasn't a dick in bed. If I got off, whoever I was with got off, too. That was just…right. It was the way of the universe according to Tyler Hawkins. She reached for the washcloth soon after finishing me off and wiped her hand. I couldn't have given less of a shit that I'd just come in my pants. I wanted to make her feel good, too. I pulled her back to lie down again and she turned her head to look at me. I shifted closer and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you?" I didn't think that really needed to be answered, but she asked.

"Why?"

Uhm. "Because I want to?"

She looked confused.

I pressed another kiss to her lips gently, like we'd started with, and she relaxed slightly, kissing me back. I made sure she knew I was going to touch her before I did, my hand landing on her stomach and moving back toward her hip, kneading gently. My hand moved slow enough that she could have stopped me if she wanted to as I made my way into her jeans. I wasn't nearly as deft with my fingers as she was with hers and getting the jeans undone was more of a chore than I wanted. Getting this done with all the layers of clothing was another hassle, but if she was confused about me kissing her after I got off, clothes were probably staying on for this one. My fingers played under the band of her underwear for a while, just letting her get used to the feeling of me there, and I rubbed my thumb through the strip of hair just above her mound. I only used one finger to find her slit, running the pad through her lips and...stopped. I pulled back to look at her. She wasn't wet. At all.

"Are you ok?"

She nodded, "I'm fine."

"Are you…just not into this?"

"You don't need to do that," she said, staring me down.

"Uh…but…I _want_ to do that."

"Why?"

This was a genuine question. She wasn't being aloof or anything. Like, she genuinely wanted to know why I had my hand down her pants. "Because…I want to make you feel good?" Why did I have to ask all this shit? _Ask!_ I had to ask her a question to her questions. Because they were bizarre and strange questions to ask during any type of sexual encounter.

"You got off, didn't you?"

"Yes. And that's why I'd like to make sure you get off, too."

"I don't need to get off."

I took my hand out gently. "Why not?"

"I just don't."

"Is this part of the not dating thing? Like…you don't get the concept of mutual satisfaction?"

She laughed. "Maybe."

"Ok, well…this is how it works. Or, at least, this is how it works for me: if I'm with a girl and I get off, she gets off, too. Otherwise, there's really no point. Because I can get off myself, it's just not as fun. Nor is it mutual."

She was looking at me very strangely. "Are you f'real?"

I nodded, confused myself now. "Yes. Completely. That's how it works."

She turned her head toward the ceiling, looking away from me. I just stared at her. Because what the fuck was I supposed to do now? Like…did I try again? Protocol had flown out the window again. And apparently I was going to have to go back to the asking shit again. "Would you like me to?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know if you'd like me to get you off, or you don't know if you want to get off at all?"

"Yeah."

"Which one? Do you get off?"

She giggled, "Yeah, I get off."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"But not with other guys."

"No, not normally."

"Have you ever gotten off with a guy?"

"Yeah. A long time ago."

She seemed incredibly far away when she said that, and she looked sad, and this shit was just monumentally fucked up. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah," she smiled. That was better. "It was nice."

"So…would you like me to?"

She turned her head back to look at me, "I…" she trailed off.

I stared her down, "Why are you so opposed to me making you feel good?"

She shrugged, "That's just not how it works."

"Christ, says who? I just told you I'd like to. Why is that not how it works? I want to get you off."

"I don't need to get off."

"Bullshit. That's bullshit. Completely."

"What difference does it make to you if I don't get off? You got off. That's what you wanted."

Ok. What? "You think…I brought you here just so I could get off?"

"Didn't you?"

"No. I just told you that if I get off, you do, too. And I didn't bring you here for that reason anyway. Jesus, you're the one who asked where I lived. You wanted to come here."

She didn't have an answer for that.

I sighed. "Ok, look. Apparently something has gotten crossed here in communication. I'm not looking for just sex with you, ok? I didn't bring you here or buy you breakfast because I wanted to get in your pants."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Fuck me, come on. I mean, sure, if you're gonna offer it to me, I'm gonna take it. But…if you just wanted to hang out today, or whatever, I was fine with that, too. I'm not in a hurry. I just…I liked you. I didn't want to walk away and never see you again. I only asked for a date at the diner. I didn't ask for you to come back here and jerk me off. It wasn't a conditional date."

She sighed then, heavily, letting the breath out slowly. "I'm sorry. I told you. I don't know how to do this. I…I'm used to a certain way of guys just…it doesn't matter. I'm sorry, I just have a tendency to react."

"Was that what the handjob was? Reacting?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

I nodded. "Ok."

"Why do you ask that?"

"It was just very mechanical. Like you weren't really into it. I guess I wasn't that surprised that you weren't wet."

She was watching me again. It was kind of unnerving. Like she alternately knew every thought I had and then didn't know shit. Maybe I kept surprising her the same way she did me.

I looked back at her, "Did something happen to you? Did someone hurt you…or force you? Is that why you don't date?"

She closed off again. "It's a long story."

"I've got all day."

"You don't know anything about me."

"You don't know anything about me, either. Tell me. Then I'll know something about you. Do I need to know?"

"Do you want to?"

"I just told you I did." Oh, my God, talk about pulling teeth. I thought the bar was bad. This chick was like a rollercoaster. Vibrant and fun and alive, and then distant and unemotional and blank. And so fucking controlled.

"Mmm."

"You don't trust me, do you?"

She shook her head. Sadly, but she shook it.

I nodded. "That's ok. I flirted with you in a bar, got you arrested, bought you breakfast, and you gave me a handjob; I suppose that's not exactly trustworthy material on the onset."

She didn't say anything.

"I'm guessing you don't want to relax and let me try to get you off, either."

"Nope."

I nodded. "Ok." I let a beat pass. "You wanna take a nap?"

She looked at me oddly again. "Where?"

"Here. This is a bed, ya know?"

She looked wary again, untrusting.

"I promise, I will not try to have sex with you or get you off in any way. We can just sleep here. I'm an excellent sleeper." I put my hands up to show I was completely innocent and truthful.

She chuckled and pulled her bottom lip behind her teeth, appraising me. "If I do this…and you try something…I'll use the Super Glue, and you won't like where I use it."

I smirked, "You really shouldn't threaten me with a good time this early in the relationship."

She smiled back. "I'll remember that." She debated another minute and I let her have whatever she needed. "Ok," she said, somewhat hesitant.

I moved slowly, lying down so I was vertical instead of the horizontal way we'd been lying across the bed, and she followed suit, mirroring me with her head on the other pillow. I figured, for this first sleeping arrangement, she wasn't going to want me to touch her and there was going to be that invisible line that I couldn't cross on the bed. Trust took building. I could do that. "Sweet dreams," I said softly, knowing that I had to be the one to close my eyes first. Building step number one.

I closed my eyes and I heard her sigh, "My dreams aren't normally very sweet."

I opened them again for a second, "Mine aren't, either. I'm right here, though. If you need something."

She nodded, "Thanks."

I closed my eyes again. "Thanks for gluing me."

She snorted, "You're welcome."

I know I smiled and that was about it. I fell asleep quickly, and just like I'd hoped she was going to stick around when I took the shower, I hoped she be there when I woke up, too. 

* * *

Special thanks to my friend/beta/lover/wife/hetero-life partner, Kaia for everything, and Em for developing back story and framework and everything else, too. Luff you guys.

Check out the cover art & music for chapters here: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

or

on my LJ here: http:/shadow-walker3(dot)livejournal(dot)com/49870(dot)html


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**APOV**

It felt like I'd come a long way since NOLA. The Rileys made me realize that I needed a change. I couldn't be their daughter—I couldn't replace her—but I could get myself out of the hole I'd fallen into. I bounced around for a while. Texas wasn't much different from NOLA, and Vegas got totally fucked, but it was when things changed, too. Vegas was more fucked up than all the other places together. It's the _Den of Sin_ for fuck's sake. I think, had Jordan not come along, I would have died there. Jordan changed that. She was a few years older than me, and smarter, and she'd pulled me along so I didn't end up like so many other girls did. I didn't know why she cared at first, but once she did, she wouldn't leave me alone. She got me out of hooking for good, and helped me get a steady strip job. No more backrooms and handjobs. I guess she taught me the value of myself more than anyone else could have. Lois had tried, but Jordan forced me to see by showing me what happened to girls right in front of my face. She even helped me get my GED. School had been a joke for me; money was more important. But Jordan was a good friend. After shit had gone sour in Vegas, she wanted to turn tail for New York. My original plan had been to keep moving West. To make it to L.A. and get into the porn industry, but I had my fill of that in Vegas and maybe I'd been going the wrong direction all my life. New York couldn't have been any worse than any other place.

And Tyler was cute. He was really cute. His father's _lawyer,_ not his father, came to bail him out, and that meant he had money. But this place was about one step up from the shithole I lived in, and that really didn't make a lot of sense to me. I honestly thought we'd wind up in some penthouse and then my answer would have slapped me in the face on Park Avenue, but we wound up here instead. I wasn't even sure the door had a working lock. Even my place had a working lock. I couldn't figure him out. I couldn't get the angle. I thought that was something I could do just by looking. I knew all the types. I could spot the jerks, players, users, druggies, and pimps a mile away. Tyler didn't fit any of those. He was cocky, but I could tell he thought he knew shit about the world. He seemed real, and he kinda reminded me of Doug. Doug looked at me the same way. Like I was just another person. Sometimes Tyler looked at me like he wanted me, but it seemed like he liked talking to me, too. But thinking he was like Doug was dangerous because Doug was the first person in years that I had trusted, like, really let them in. And I wasn't sure I was ready for that again. It was easier not to care. It was easier to know that someone wasn't thinking about you. I still called Doug sometimes because I wanted to believe that if I called him and asked him to get me, he would have done it. It was nice to think about sometimes, but I didn't want to get too comfortable with it. Just in case. Just in case.

Even good people can fuck you over.

So I thought about just being naked and ready on his bed when he got out of the shower. I just kept waiting for him to drop the nice guy act and come out demanding that I fuck or suck or strip. I'd been around the block too many times to fall for the routine. Plenty of guys started out nice, flashed their wads of cash, before they wanted to blow their load all over you. And I don't know why I thought this was any different. I was here, I was at his place. He hadn't invited me, I was the one who had asked to come here, and I think part of it was because I just wanted to get it over with so I could move on and know that the world still turned the same way it always had. The other part still had hope. I wasn't sure hope was a positive thing anymore. It seemed to fuck everyone over, into worse situations than they were already in. But hope was tricky. It made me think that maybe things would be different. Maybe _this_ time is the one time it would work out.

Fucking hope. I wish I could have killed it. Ripped it right out from my chest where it still beat with my heart.

Fucking hope made me tell him my real name. Jordan was so surprised I'd said that. She'd looked at me like I was crazy, or really fucking stupid. It was that annoying fucking hope that made me tell him. And his eyes. His eyes were _so_…alive. Most people I met had dead eyes. Blank. Eyes that left their lives at the door. Eyes that undressed me while I stood there already half naked. Husbands who didn't think about their wives and families. Boyfriends who wouldn't tell their girlfriends about me. Fiancés who forgot they were getting married. Angry, sick men who pretended they weren't sick until the door was shut. Tyler's eyes were different. Like he hadn't checked out. He _looked_ at me. Cloudy, dark; there was trouble there, but he seemed decent. And that was so different. So new. So hopeful. I suppose that's why I ran after him after the restaurant. Because he treated me like I was normal, even if he had no idea what he was getting into. And he kept trying.

But he _was _dangerous, even though he had no idea what danger meant, because he was as normal as I'd come across in a long time. He was very dangerous. He could mean disaster.

So I hoped my judgment wasn't wrong.

He'd been flirting. I think we were flirting. And it was so fucking weird to do it in a normal way. Flirting usually meant how dirty they wanted me to talk until they got off. There was no pretending, no build. You just got to it. This was so different and I kept wondering if I was doing it right. I kept pulling back because I didn't want it to end badly. I didn't want it to be fake.

I looked around his room. He didn't really decorate. There were a lot of books on the shelves and in piles all around the room. He seemed like a reader—that was probably why he thought he knew shit. Book smart people didn't know anything about the real world; no way he learned the shit I learned in his books. That only came from experience. It was weird, though, he seemed to know more about the real world than other spoiled rich kids. There was something under the surface with him, something he was hiding, and he had a bad temper and lost control at times, like last night in the alley. There was pain in his eyes sometimes, like he'd lost something, or was looking for something. That was another way he was like Doug.

By the time I was done thinking about it, he was out of the shower and it was show time again.

He fell asleep quickly after. Getting the shit beat out of you will do that, though. His breathing was slow and he snored a little, which was kind of adorable. Like, it wasn't at all a loud snoring. It was almost just like a heavier breathing. I smiled; he looked much more innocent in sleep, but I guessed most people did. I just lay there for a while, thinking about the last twelve hours.

Tyler came across as a smart kid, with a temper, who lost control sometimes. Hell, I did that, too. That was what the handjob had been. Hadn't really planned that one. I hadn't planed jumping all over that cop, either. Shit, I hadn't done something like that in a while and I had no idea why I'd done it then, either. I didn't know Tyler at all, or really cared if he got arrested or not. It was just something about the cop, the way he told people what to do and how he'd been such a prick when Tyler was trying to tell him the truth. Getting physical with cops was always a bad idea; they had the power whether you were right or wrong. I think he knew that but did it anyway. I couldn't really begin to guess his reasons. The violence the cop had shown was so jacked. Seeing Tyler's blood smeared all over the windshield just made me react.

This wasn't a typical night anymore—no arrests, no random handjobs. I was surprised that he wanted to get me off after the handjob. I wasn't used to that. Some of the shit I'd done just to test him, but other stuff just happened. The way he talked about it was different, too. Normally, a few questions was all it took to send a guy running, thinking I was a complete nutcase or bitch cock-tease. He kept trying, like he really wanted to know the why. He knew when to stop pushing, which made him different from other guys I'd met. Jordan was like that: open, but knew when to shut up or when to stay away from shit.

I was sort of driving myself nuts here; I didn't know him at all. I wasn't even sure what his last name was. And I didn't know why I was thinking about all of this shit so much, he wasn't anything to me, and he'd be gone by the time I had to go to work tonight. Most guys didn't get off on their dates taking their clothes off in front of other men. What the fuck was I even thinking?

I watched him sleep for a few minutes before I'd let my guard down. It was just an instinct I couldn't shut off. I drifted off, but restlessly. I slept maybe two or three hours, and Tyler was still zonked out next to me and he hadn't tried anything. It was nice lying here with him, nothing expected. What a switch. I didn't know if I could trust him yet, but he was doing a decent job of not being an asshole. It was just a matter of whether he could keep that up once he knew the truth. There were things about me that I could never change. His tolerance level would have to be high. I was an entirely different sort of high maintenance girl.

Wonder how the flirting would go when I told him I was an ex-hooker currently working as a stripper?

Something told me the door would be the next thing I saw after that talk.

* * *

**TPOV**

She was gone when I woke up and I growled angrily, cursing myself for sleeping at all, for letting her out of my sight. I scrubbed my hands over my face, welcoming the pain that sprang up. I forced myself up with a groan, my face felt tight, all the fucking cuts scabbing and the damn glue pulling. I wondered how long she'd been gone and if it was worth getting up further to see if I could still catch her. My mouth was dry and stale, and I'd slept most of the day—it was close to four. Christ, she could have left right after I fell asleep and then there wouldn't have been a chance at all even if I wouldn't have slept so long. Shit.

I could hear sounds from the kitchen, so Aidan was probably home, and wouldn't that be a fun conversation? I turned back to look at the side of the bed where she'd been when I fell asleep and sighed. This was gonna be a shit night, I could tell already. My face hurt and my body felt like I'd been on a two-week bender, my head felt even worse and, God, I should've just stayed sleeping.

I grunted and angrily kicked my shoes out the way when I got up, contemplating taking another shower and then deciding that I didn't really care to and just pissed instead, steeling myself for the conversation with Aidan that I knew was forthcoming.

Fuck me sideways! She was still here. Sitting on the couch with Aidan and eating a fucking sandwich. Color me stunned. Again. Some more.

"You stayed!" I swear I made that sound less excited than I really was.

They both turned to look at me as I came into the kitchen, suddenly all fucking nervous and off balance because I'd prepared myself for the worst and, now, she was still here.

She nodded, "I made you a sandwich." She jerked her thumb at Aidan, "He fucking ate it."

Aidan grinned at me widely and allowed me to see the sandwich he was still consuming. Mature. He was the height of maturity.

"So I made you another one; it's in the fridge. You better eat it before he gets hungry again. He was talking about getting high."

She was awesome. "Thanks," I said, happily opening the fridge, and there sat a happy sandwich.

"Do you guys ever shop for food?" she asked.

I wasn't sure which of us was supposed to answer. Aidan's mouth was still full of sandwich, and that didn't stop him from trying to answer, and I'd just taken a bite and was slightly more polite.

"Not really," I answered after I swallowed. "I'm capable of making spaghetti. And I can make cake."

"Cake?" she repeated, looking at me.

"Yeah, cake." Guys could make cake. Cake was manly.

She smirked, "Interesting."

"Does beer count?" Aidan offered. "As buying food? Because I buy beer all the time. And pot. I buy pot. That's kind of its own food group."

We both ignored Aidan. "You should buy some fucking food," she lectured as though she wasn't ninety pounds soaking wet.

"You should eat more," I countered, smirking.

She flipped me off. "Seriously, you're eating the only edible items in your refrigerator. And you should throw out the cottage cheese that expired a year ago. I refused to take it out and throw it away because it's probably less toxic while refrigerated."

I chuckled. "I don't think I bought the cottage cheese."

She rolled her eyes, "Cooking is not that difficult. If you can make a fucking cake, you can make something for dinner. There's tons of shit that don't take a lot of time to make, too."

I studied her a moment and she averted her gaze. "I didn't peg you for Holly Homemaker."

She scoffed, "Far from it. I never used to cook, but if you stay in one place for a while, you get sick of the same takeout shit."

Aidan jumped in, "I haven't reached that level of sick yet."

"Maybe you can teach me," I ventured.

She met my eyes, weighing. "Maybe."

Maybe was better than fuck no, right?

"I'll eat whatever you cook," Aidan offered helpfully.

"Aidan?" I said.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck off."

"Man, you're such a dick. You're just jealous because I got to eat the first sandwich." He grumbled some more as he trudged back to his bunk.

"Sorry about him," I apologized.

She waved me off, "It's cool. He's ok."

She brought her plate back into the kitchen just as I finished my sandwich. "Thanks…for the sandwich."

She smiled, "You're welcome. Thanks for letting me raid your shittily stocked fridge."

"Anytime." She leaned on the counter after she rinsed the plate. "You said you worked nights. Do you work tonight?"

"Yes."

"What time?"

"Ten."

I nodded, calculating. "You wanna hang out here then, for a while? Before you have to go to work?"

The lip went behind her teeth, "What would we do?"

Well wasn't that a loaded question? "We could watch a movie. Play video games. Take a walk. Whatever you wanna do." She looked intrigued. This was good. Intrigue was very good. Positive.

"Video games?"

"Yeah. We have an Xbox, and Aidan's ancient Nintendo, complete with original games. He's a total geek."

"You brought the games, asshole," Aidan yelled from his bunk.

I twisted my mouth, "Ok…I may have supplied a few classics, but the game system is his. He's the nerd, all right?"

She nodded. "I haven't played an Xbox in years. And I used to fucking rule at Super Mario Brothers."

SCORE. "I have Super Mario Brothers. One, Two, and Three. Take your pick."

She was excited, and I was elated. I pointed to the living room and directed her back to the couch. "What do you want to play first?"

"Mario One. Definitely."

She was smiling so fucking much that I never wanted to stop playing this stupid game and we hadn't even started yet. When I handed her the controller, it was like a religious experience. Nostalgia was all over her face, and I couldn't decide if the level was sad or not. Most people took a moment and had their memory, but she was stroking her thumbs over the controller like it was a religious relic.

I couldn't help myself. "Did you play a lot when you were a kid?"

"No," she shook her head.

"Must have made an impression."

She nodded, "It did." She smiled up at me and I sat down on the couch, flipping the TV to channel 3 and pressing the power button. She bobbed to the theme music and refused to let me start the game until it had made one full run through. "Can I be Mario?" she asked when the song started over.

I chuckled, "Sure. I don't settle for Luigi for just anybody, though, so count yourself among the lucky."

She smirked, looking down. "Thanks."

Who would have thought the tough-as-nails, doesn't-trust-anyone, jumps-all-over-self-righteous-cops, enigma of a girl next to me was a hardcore gamer? Surprise after surprise this one. Another surprise? She kicked my ass. Wiped the floor with it. Spit me out and fucked me over.

The more she won, the more animated she became. "Oh, look at that fucker! I totally nailed him! Die, you fucking mushroom! I need a goddamn, motherfucking flower! Firepower! Firepower!"

I think she took an overactive interest in beating me. At the end of World 3, she actually 'accidentally' bumped my elbow when I was just about to kill Bowser. And then giggled endlessly until I couldn't help but join in. She was so fucking hard to figure out.

She was quite obnoxious. "Sucker!"

And I just couldn't be bothered to care. Her leg was pressed against mine, and she'd lean over and bump me, and she used her entire body sometimes when she wanted to make a jump, or kill something, and stood up other times, and if she died or missed a jump or had to go back, out popped the, "Motherfucking fireball!" "Fucking fish! I fucking _hate_ the water levels." "Those motherfucking bastards!" "Did you see what the fucker just did? Goddamnit! Bastard bullets!"

I was so amused that I didn't even know what to say. I feared that if I tried to tell her how much I was enjoying it, enjoying her, that I'd send her running, so I just played along instead.

"Fuck, what time is it?" she asked suddenly, searching for a clock.

We'd played long enough that it was dark out, but I had no idea what time it was. I squinted at the clock, "Like…9:15?"

"Shit. Fuck. I gotta go." She handed me the controller. "Sucks to be you, loser," she smirked.

"Wow. It's a good thing I lose well."

She started grabbing her jacket and shit, and I sort of wanted to follow after her and grab it all back. "Do you work late?"

"Usually."

"You wanna come by after?"

"Nah, I better not."

"Why?"

"It's just not a good idea."

What the fuck? Yeah, that was an appropriate response. "What the fuck?"

She turned to look at me. "Tyler…there's just…I like you. I really do. This is the first time in…I don't even know how long that I've actually felt like a normal, everyday girl. To just forget everything. And…it meant a lot. I just…" she sighed.

"What? What's wrong? I thought we were having a good time. I let you beat me and everything."

She snorted, "Right. No, it was great. Please don't misunderstand."

"So…you mean I can see you again some other time?"

"I really don't think it's a good idea."

"I don't get you."

"I know."

"I mean…I ask to see you again and you say no. You follow me anyway and invite yourself over. You're alternately into me and then not and…I mean, if you've got…issues or whatever, I'm fine with that. But…I just, I don't get it."

"You don't have to."

"That's not fair. Why aren't you at least giving me a chance before you just blow me off?"

She sighed and stopped at the door, turning to look at me. "Ok."

I smiled, "Great."

"If you want to see me, you can visit me later at work."

"Awesome. Where should I meet you?"

She smiled sadly, "I go on at 10. Big Eddie's on West 33rd Street. You can find me on the second pole."

"What?"

"It was nice meeting you, Tyler."

And she walked out the fucking door.

"What?" I said to myself, because she was fucking gone. I'm sure the look on my face was quite priceless because my brain was having a hard time catching on here.

"Dude, your girlfriend is a stripper! That's _awesome_. Change your shirt, you can't wear that to a strip club. Come on, we're going!"

Well,_ there_. That put things into perspective. I scowled at Aidan. "Like hell we're going. Are you nuts? What the fuck's the matter with you? I'm not letting you see her strip!"

"Fuck you, man! She's a stripper. That's what they _do_."

"I…I can't believe…" I started pacing. "What the fuck was she thinking?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like…what was all this?"

"What?"

"Today!"

"Yeah?"

"Why would she do that?"

"What?"

"Like…just hang out with me and shit?"

Aidan's eyebrows rose, "Uhm…because she liked you?"

"She's a stripper!"

"Yeah. So?" He paused in thought, "Tyler, man, this is awesome. I bet her friend's a stripper, too! Candi! Score!"

I groaned angrily, stalking off. This was just…wrong. There were so many levels of wrong here. How did you date a stripper? I couldn't date a stripper! I couldn't live with the knowledge that my girlfriend was taking her clothes off for assholes all night long. Why the fuck did I even care? She wasn't my girlfriend! Surprise after surprise, but not my girlfriend. I had no claim to her. But why would she even do that as a profession? Couldn't she get a real job? I mean, I wasn't the most ambitious, but even I held down a job, an honest job. I…a _stripper_? A woman who takes off her clothes for a living. She just didn't seem the type. I don't know what the type even was, but she didn't seem like it. And alternately, a whole lot of other shit made sense. Like how she was completely distrusting of any man because, hello, they were all grabby hands and wanting in her pants, and _oh, my God, guys wanted in her pants every night!_ I couldn't handle this. This was way too much. Like her wariness about the drink being roofied, or if I wanted something more than just company. _Jesus fucking Christ. _Why? Just why? How? How did someone like her end up stripping? I couldn't wrap my head around any of it. There was no reason. She was intelligent and grounded, and she could be doing something so much better with her time and effort. She could be holding a decent job, a non-skeevy job. A job where guys didn't constantly think about fucking her while she took various articles of clothing off. Christ, what kind of stripping did she do? Full frontal? Tits and ass? Was this some seedy back-alley establishment where men could get jerked off, too? _Was that why she was so good at it?_

She couldn't do this. I couldn't let her do this. It wasn't like a moral or ethical thing or, hell, maybe it was. I wasn't exactly the poster boy for good, moral, upstanding citizenship, but I had more self-respect than to let other people pay me to take my clothing off.

"Are we going, man? She's gonna go on in a bit. If we don't leave now, we'll miss her," Aidan offered. Aidan, always the supportive one.

I was fuming. "Let's go."

Aidan was practically jogging next to me. "Dude, I know you're excited, but can we slow down?"

I stopped dead in my tracks and got right in his face. "If you think this is excitement, I'll shove my foot so far up your ass you'll be excited to ever shit right again."

He backed up with his hands up, "Hey, man. Ok."

I turned and started walking again, and he fell in step with me.

"I gather you're not taking this as well as I am?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Got it."

Thankfully, he was silent the rest of the walk. I chain-smoked four cigarettes on the way, and then another when we were standing in front of the door to _Big Eddie's_. What the fuck kind of name was that anyway? A large group of overweight, ugly, disgusting men walked in ahead of us and I tried to suppress the urge to vomit, turn tail, and just fucking go home… or bust someone's head open. I did none of those. Instead, I walked through the fucking door and started scanning. Pole two wasn't hard to spot. I had to take a deep breath to keep the rage from overflowing. She was on the stage, hanging all over the pole. I couldn't describe the feelings that came over me while watching it; I don't think they could be articulated in words. My palms were sweaty and I kept clenching them, and my head was throbbing with the erratic pulse of my completely furious heart. My head was like a fucking storm, all thunderous and boiling, and if I weren't careful I'd wind up arrested again. I didn't need that two nights in a row; it would just give my father more ammunition.

An aside I will admit: she looked amazing. I was sort of disgusted with myself that I even had that thought, but it was there nonetheless. What bothered me the most, though? I was seeing more of her right now than I had this morning. Even when her hand was down my pants and she was jerking me off, I hadn't seen this much of her. All of these fucking assholes were getting more of her than I had, and we'd had an honest conversation and spent the day together. It was just wrong. There was so much _wrong_ here.

Aidan was sort of pivoting around me. I think he was under the impression that I was going to get him arrested again, and he was probably right. So it was a good idea that he was just waiting for it to start.

He knew the minute I blew.

She was humping the fucking pole, basically—there was really no two ways about it—and some big, beefy, ugly as shit, construction worker started whistling and flashing fucking _one dollar bills_ and calling her name, which I'll add was _not_ Allison, and she just strolled over like a fucking moth to a flame. As long as the flame had dollar signs, she waltzed right on over. He started shoving them in her motherfucking _lime green_ g-string, and her tits were already uncovered and flashing the entire world, and his hands were way too close to _everything_. Her body looked so fucking young and innocent, but her expression was so skilled and schooled and experienced that I totally lost my shit.

Aidan tried to grab me. I was moving, though, before he could get a grip. He told me later I was yelling, but I don't really remember that part. All I could see was that fat asshole's fat hands all over her and I refused to let it continue.

I marched right over to the stage and the look on her face was priceless. It was my turn to surprise her. She was so shocked that she didn't react right away when I yelled (that I remember), "GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OFF OF THAT STAGE!" And then I grabbed her, bending her over my shoulder, and started walking out the fucking door with her that way.

She was yelling back at me, but I didn't care what she was saying. I ignored her tiny little fists beating against my back and my shoulder. I'd almost made it to the door, too, when the fucking bouncer, who was probably ten of those beefy guys put together, basically picked her right off of my shoulder, set her down gently, and then grabbed the back of my jacket and actually lifted me outside.

So… in the course of two nights, I'd been beaten up by a cop, beaten by a tiny little wisp of a girl, and tossed out of a strip club by a man nineteen times my size. At least I hadn't gotten arrested yet. Aidan came out willingly on his own a few seconds later, and I was still seething outside.

He didn't get the chance to say anything.

That fiery little wisp came flying out the door with what I supposed constituted a robe in these parts: basically see-through and barely went below her waist. "What the FUCK do you think you're doing, Tyler?" she screamed, chucking the massively high-heeled shoes she'd been wearing in my direction. She had terrible aim.

"What do you think _you're_ doing? Did you see those assholes in there? How they touched you? What's the matter with you?"

"With me? You fucking asshole – this is my job! You could have cost me my job tonight, and then where the fuck would I be?"

"Anywhere's gotta be better than this! _Mallory_. Fuck, you didn't even tell me your real name! What kind of a person does this? And lies about _everything_? Were you honest with me about anything? Was anything true?"

She got right in my face. "Listen up, fucknuts. I told you my real name. Mallory is what I use for the stage, nothing else. I was real with you. I was honest with you. I didn't lie about anything, and you have no fucking right to come down here and tell me anything about how I should live my life. I don't know you at all! I don't owe you anything!"

"You're so much better than this! Why would you even do this kind of shit? You could get a job doing anything else!"

"Not all of us have rich parents. You have–"

"I don't live off of my parents, bitch. But I sure as hell wouldn't ever sell myself just to get ahead."

She slapped me. "You have NO idea what the world is like, Tyler. None. You live in this little bubble that you've created, that your parents have provided. You can always go back there. I can't go back to anything; there's nothing to go back to. Fall off the pedestal, jackass, because the view from down here with all the rest of us lowly people is a lot different than your high class dick."

"You seemed pretty comfortable around dicks. Is that part of the job description?"

She tried to slap me again. Only it totally wasn't a slap, it was a right hook. And I only narrowly managed to duck around it. I started backing up, only because I didn't want her to hurt herself. And, ya know, my face already hurt, and the bouncer wasn't exactly gentle. By the time she ended up connecting with me, we'd moved all the way across the street and into some darkened alley. What the fuck was up with us and alleys? Her hands were a flurry of motion and she was calling me every name that she could think of over and over, and her rage just kept pounding on my chest, and I have no idea what the fuck happened, but I started kissing her. It was just…everything. The heat of the moment, and I was only trying to, fuck, I don't know what I was trying to do. Protect her? That was so cliché, and she hadn't asked me to—she didn't want me to swoop in and grab her from the stage.

She kissed me back, though, her hands stopping the beating on my chest and instead grabbing onto the fabric of my jacket, fisting it on her way up to my head. Her hands ran through my hair and everything was frenzied. I couldn't get my hands on enough of her, running my fingers over the expanse of her skin, so much skin, her sides, her flat stomach, her smooth back. Her hands tightened in my hair and pulled, and there was still plenty of anger there, but it was serving us well at the moment, so I let her do it. She yanked a fistful of my hair and I shoved my hips into her, letting her feel how she was making me insanely hard. This was different. She was only mine here. There were no assholes, with their hands being all grabby, and no one was stuffing bills into her g-string. And I almost chuckled when my fingers reached her waist, the paper bills still stuffed in the waistband. She tugged on my hair again, and I think my head bouncing off of the brick was intentional on her part, but I let her do that, too. I spun us around and undid the button and fly on my jeans, pushing the material down far enough that I could free my cock from my boxer-briefs. I didn't bother to remove her underwear, I just shifted them aside and sought her slit with my finger. I groaned when, this time, fucking _this time,_ she was wet, and she nipped on my lip as I hitched her legs around my waist. Her arms went around my neck and she was clawing at my back as I buried myself inside her, shoving her back into the brick behind us. I couldn't breathe for a minute, and she was holding onto me so tightly I think she felt the same, her arms clenched around my neck as her walls enclosed my cock—she felt amazing, better than I'd imagined.

I groaned into her neck as I withdrew slightly and pushed back in, and her legs slipped and scrambled to try and hitch back on my waist. She locked them around me and I pushed in deeper, my hands cupping and kneading her ass. She moaned into my ear, and fuck if it didn't send pinpricks all the way down my spine. This wasn't going to be long and drawn out, my entire body was screaming for release already and I think half of it was just her, just the way she affected me. Everything with her seemed to slam into overdrive half a second after it started.

I leaned back a bit, wanting to see her, and she relented her grip on my neck, leaning back into the brick and just cupping my neck. Her eyes were hooded and she was watching me, breathing heavily and arching her hips into my thrusts, and she looked so beautiful. She was wearing eyeliner; I hadn't noticed that until now, when we were so focused and close. Obviously part of the Mallory act, accentuating and highlighting the green of her eyes, but with her eyes all hooded like this, it just made her look about ten times sexier. I supposed that was the point.

I kept driving my hips into her, her body arching and grinding against me. I was close. Too much pent up frustration mixed with the adrenaline from fighting with her, and she kept clenching her thighs around me, and my concentration was just shit when she was around—it was a wonder I could argue with her at all. I shifted closer, hoping that the wall wasn't gonna rip up her back because the fucking robe wasn't gonna buffer anything, and I could feel her walls start to clench around me. She was pulling at my shirt, pulling me closer, and her mouth wound up right by my ear again, my grunts mixing with her hitched breathing when I'd shove in.

It seemed everything with her was intense; the orgasm was no different. She was fluttering around me, the sounds of her moaning and panting floated around my head, her hands tugged at my hair, and it felt like every part of her was clenching against and around me. Then, she fucking bit my ear and panted out, "Come for me." And, well, I listened—pressing her into the wall, mostly because I was fairly certain we needed it to hold us up. My legs were shaking with the exertion of hanging onto her, the waves of pleasure and the force of my release making them feel weak and unsupportive.

I grunted and jerked my hips until the aftershocks were gone, resting my head in the space between her head and shoulder. I hadn't felt that level of relief in an orgasm in…I couldn't even remember when. Like everything just leaked out of me. She was amazing.

She'd gone mostly quiet, her limbs similarly loose and released, combing her hands through my hair. I pressed a kiss to her collarbone and she nuzzled her cheek into my head. When I pulled back to look at her, she looked incredible, startling, her face flushed and her hair wild and messy. The way she'd been tugging on mine, I was sure mine didn't look any better.

She ran a hand over my head once more and then down my face. "Well, Tyler, I think you lied."

I was about to smirk, happy we were back to teasing, but she wasn't joking. I was confused. "About what?" I asked, letting her legs down from my waist and standing her up.

She stared me down, smirking. "Thought you said that a girl who's with you always gets off, too?"

The fucking brick wall could have fallen on me and it wouldn't have hurt as much as her statement had right there. I actually staggered back a step.

"This was a great second date."

And the hits just keep on comin'!

She shook her head, laughing humorlessly as she adjusted her underwear and her robe and started walking away from me, out the mouth of the alleyway. "I thought you were different, but you're just like all the others."

_Oh, fuck_.

"Might wanna tuck yourself back in your pants," she yelled over her shoulder before she was out of my sight.

I don't know how long I stood there. I think I was in shock, honestly. I probably had been since the previous night because the last twenty-four hours had been a complete whirlwind of emotion and elation and complete and utter disgust. With myself. How had things gotten so monumentally fucked? Things had been going so well. And now…now I had no idea where to even start. After minutes of just standing there with my dick flapping in the breeze, I tucked it back in my pants and just kind of sat down. My back wound up against the bricks, so I must have had some semblance of awareness, although I couldn't remember moving to sit against it at all. I let my head fall back to the wall and let it bounce off of the surface a few times, trying to clear my head. My mind was trying to outpace my heart, and I had no idea even how to make this right, or even if I could.

Obviously I'd reacted badly to the whole stripper deal. I wasn't sure I could really blame myself for that, and she seemed to think it was coming, so… it wasn't really that I'd reacted that way, it was more what I did with it. Certainly the plan of coming down to the fucking place was probably my first mistake. I was already livid and mad and making judgments without really having any idea about her at all, and watching everything, I closed my eyes with a groan, trying to erase those particular images. It wasn't leaving anytime soon. My second mistake was trying to remove her from her place of employment. That was galactically stupid. She was correct that I had absolutely no right to do so, and it was just me reacting to the already bad situation I found myself in. And even if I didn't like it, I would have felt even more horrible if I'd cost her the only job she had. So I'd caused an enormous scene in her workplace, tried to forcibly remove her, and then screamed at her in the middle of a street. I was batting a thousand here. We'd both been angry when we'd been yelling at each other, but I resorted to rather low cheap shots when she started making her own judgments about me. I couldn't blame her, and I'm sure that was exactly what I seemed like: a spoiled kid with a chip on his shoulder. Hell, maybe I was. I didn't know anything anymore at this moment. The kiss and the alley just sort of happened. It certainly wasn't my intent or what I'd come down here for, and now… Shit.

Now I'd basically proven that I was no better than any of those nameless, faceless assholes who tried to touch her every night. Only I'd taken it a step further and actually fucked her in the middle of a dark alley like she was some cheap whore. I swallowed thickly and scrubbed a hand over my face and up to my hair, tugging on it. She'd been into it. I knew she was into it, but what was going to keep me up tonight, and probably every night until I could talk to her again, was the idea that she'd never been into it at all. She'd totally played me, I was pretty sure, making me pay for being a prick. But… what if I'd read the entire thing wrong? My record for calling plays the last few nights hadn't been very good. What if she just went along with it because she knew I wanted it, or it was too difficult to make me stop? My stomach was falling out—it couldn't drop any lower. All she would have had to say was 'stop,' and I would have; I didn't want her to do anything with me that she wasn't sure about. And had she gotten anything out of it at all? She'd told me that she hadn't come, but she'd been wet, I hadn't had to coerce her, it just happened. So was anything real, or was it all fake? But there was such a big difference between the words _want_ and _let, _and I didn't like the implications of the second one.

I wasn't _that_ guy, but I'd just made her think I was. That stung—being told that you were just like all the other guys who'd fucked her over. Jesus Fucking Christ, I really hoped she didn't think that. That I'd somehow orchestrated this entire thing just to fuck her randomly. I was impulsive, and it was just… Shit.

My brain switched to this other track, the one that was wondering exactly what happened to this girl. I really didn't know anything about her. What kind of life could she have had to have this be the outcome? What made someone decide to strip in the first place? Did you just wake up one morning and decide that was what you were gonna go for? What kind of parents would consider that a decent living? Who would condone that? Did she _like_ doing it? Fuck, the strip joint could have even been a front for something else. She could be a hooker for all I knew.

I groaned again. Way to completely fuck up again, Tyler.

So I needed to figure out the answers to some questions: Did I even want to pursue this? If I did, could I live with her being a stripper? Could I have a conversation with her that did not involve judgment about it at all, and perhaps even lend a little understanding?

It didn't really matter. Even if she wanted nothing else to do with me, which was completely reasonable, I had to make it right. I had to tell her… everything. I needed her to know that I wasn't just some asshole. I needed her to know it for me, but for herself, too. I'd fucked up, but not all men were evil and out to screw her over in any way they could. That wasn't what I wanted. If the rest wound up falling into place, I'd have to have the answers to those questions.

God, I was such a fucking moron. If Michael could see me now… I had to stop that train of thought or things were going to get infinitely worse.

I needed a plan. I didn't know where she lived, so that left only the fucking strip joint as my point of access and they were never gonna let me in there again. And I got the impression that her night was over when I pulled her off the stage. So, basically, I just had to creepily stalk a strip joint until she showed up again. I could do that.

I was so insane. Insane people do this kind of shit, hang out and watch in paranoia as everyone who goes in and out of a door looks like the person you're waiting for, only they're smaller, with more hair, and tits. Well, half the guys walking in there had tits, but… I really needed to sleep. She hadn't worked the night after I became the World's Biggest Dick. Or the night after that. I hadn't been home except for one hour somewhere in the middle when Aidan forced me to leave and take a shower, and I forced him to stay and keep watch, and then I went right back to forcing him to drop by with food and cigarettes. He thought I'd driven straight off the deep end. He called it my psychotic break with reality.

I was slowly accepting defeat because it was now night three and, hell, maybe I had gotten her fired, or maybe she'd quit and moved to Maine. The strip joints there were probably much higher class than the ones here. Looking back, I should have just asked the fucking bouncer, or one of the many "regulars," – in that they'd been there every fucking night I'd been stalking the place—if they knew her schedule, or if they knew where she lived, because that wasn't at all skeevy, and I was sure they would have just rattled off her address to basically a complete stranger who'd looked like he was assaulting her several nights before. Yeah, that was an awesome plan. So it was probably a good thing I hadn't tried it.

The desperation was going to make me careless, though. In another couple hours I wasn't going to give a shit and I was going to break and ask someone, or do something really stupid. I just couldn't do this anymore, letting it all eat at me with the knowledge that I couldn't do anything about it, that I couldn't make it right. The ground beneath me looked like a cigarette factory had thrown out all their filters. I don't think I'd ever smoked that many cigarettes cumulatively in my life. I was probably going to die of lung cancer before I ever caught another glimpse of her.

I waited until bar time, watching _patrons_ stumble out and attempt to find their way home. I sighed and threw in the towel because this was pointless, and I needed sleep, and she wasn't coming out ever again. I took a deep breath and turned to walk home when a streak of blonde caught my eye, and somewhere karma must not have hated me, or the stars aligned or something, because _that_ streak of blonde was none other than Aidan's pal, Candi with an 'i,' and I bet _she_ knew where Allison lived. Or at least could get me closer. So I bolted across the street after her without another thought.

I shouted her name and scared the shit out of her. And almost got pepper sprayed. Which wouldn't _that_ have been a great addition to this already shitty week? I put my hands up defensively, but in that total I-am-not-a-serial-killer way, and ducked until she calmed down.

"Tyler?"

"Hi." I needed sleep.

She sighed huffily, "What do you want? God, I should have sprayed you on principle." And she started walking away.

I chased after her, keeping a safe, non-pepper-spray distance. "Please, can I just talk to you for a second?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Please?"

She kept walking.

I stopped. "Fuck. Come on! I've been waiting outside that fucking strip joint for three fucking nights just to apologize. Jesus Fucking Christ, I keep trying to do the right thing, and no matter how long or how far I go, I just can't catch a fucking break! Did I fuck something up in a past life? Is this punishment? What the hell else am I supposed to do?" I have no idea who I was talking to, some higher power or cosmic law, but it didn't matter because she'd stopped. I'm not sure exactly when she came back, probably intrigued by the outburst that continued, but I was well into it before I noticed she was standing there.

She was watching me, her hip hitched and her eyebrows raised, and her mouth open while she chewed gum. "Are ya done?"I nodded. "Do you know where she is?"

She nodded.

"Can I see her? Just for a minute," I added quickly. "Really, I just want to apologize. That's all. Then I'll leave, I swear."

She was analyzing me, trying to see if I was telling the truth. Maybe it was the insanity. Or the lack of sleep. Or the beard. I sighed. "If you won't take me to her, will you at least tell her I'm sorry?"

She snapped her gum. "You really been out there for three nights?"

I nodded. "My roommate forced me to go home and take a shower once, but I don't remember when that was really. And I was only gone an hour."

She smirked. "Come on. She'll kill me, but…come on."

If I had had the energy to jump up and down, I would have. Instead, I just trudged along behind her and tried not to have a heart attack on the way. I wasn't even sure where we were by the time we arrived. It was an old building, a lot like ours, if not a step down. They had a working lock, so they had that over on us. The place wasn't neat, but neater than the pigsty we lived in. As shithole apartments go in New York, it was really…homey. It looked lived in and taken care of, and there was just a vibe to the place. Or I could have been completely deranged and on a lack of sleep high. I waited just inside the door, hands stuffed in my pockets. Candi had sort of just left me there, walking into the kitchen. I wasn't really welcome here, so I wasn't pushing any boundaries. She smirked when she saw me standing in front of the door. Like… where was I going to go? Roam through the apartment to find her?

"Allison," she called.

"What?" was called back from some room to the right. And my heart was just about in my mouth from just hearing her voice. Shit.

"Visitor," Candi called.

"What?" she seemed surprised, and I could hear her footfalls and, good GOD, don't fuck this up.

She was there entirely too quickly for my brain to register.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" she yelled at Candi.

She shrugged, smirking, "He followed me home."

She was pissed, obviously. Fuming. Her hands were balled into fists, and so I tried to keep my face blank and apologetic. She took a few steps advancing on me and her arm jerked slightly, like she really wanted to belt me, and I did nothing to stop her. My hands stayed in my jacket pockets, and if that's what would help, then she could take a swing.

My lack of response seemed to deflate her slightly. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to apologize."

She scoffed, "Sure."

"Would I be here otherwise?"

"I don't know, Tyler."

"Can we talk somewhere?" I asked.

She shook her head, "Here's good."

God, I'd completely fucked over everything—this was going to be the worst apology ever.

She was smirking, and I realized that the whole lack of sleep thing was really fucking with me because I'd said that out loud. Whatever. I just kept going. "I had no right to judge you in the first place because you were honest with me, and I just flipped out. I shouldn't have come down to the strip joint at all, and when I did I should have left or waited to talk to you. I don't know what possessed me to grab you off the stage like that, I just… I dunno, I felt like all those assholes just shouldn't be seeing you… like that. It doesn't matter. I fucked up and it was wrong. And you haven't been there, so… God, if your boss fired you or something, I can try to talk to him and tell him it was my fault, if you think it would help, and maybe he'll give you your job back. I'm sorry about what I said in the street—I was just going for the easy shots and I had no right to do that, either. And then the alley… "

Might as well just get it all out in one big rush, right? I brought a hand out and ran it through my hair. "I… I don't know you at all. And you don't know me, either. And what happened out there… I keep going over it and over it, and it's completely terrifying me that you didn't want to, or that I forced you in some way, and I don't think that's what happened, but I want you to know that if you would have told me to stop, I would have. At any moment. And it can't excuse anything, but that's not what I wanted from you. It just happened because I'm impulsive, and everything with the yelling and the fighting just… you're incredibly beautiful and I just lost my head. Or I thought with the wrong one. And when I kissed you, you seemed like you were into it—you always seemed like you were into it—I wouldn't have continued if, at any time, I thought you weren't. And I don't know now if you were or if I just thought you were and read it wrong, or…fuck," I scrubbed over my face.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. And I know I did anyway, and I'm sorry. I don't want you to think that the alley was all I wanted. And if it made you feel cheap or… God, I'm such an asshole. Just… I'm not like that. Not all guys are like that. I know it seems like I am, but I'm really not. I don't want you to think that just because I was an asshole that there aren't nice guys out there. I…" I swallowed but there was no moisture. I was just… ugh. I should just shut up and leave her alone.

I'd managed to keep eye contact through that entire rambling fucking apology and now I just couldn't look her in the eye anymore. So I looked down and away because that's what ashamed assholes did. I took a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I'll go. I just… it wasn't her fault," I nodded to Candi. "I made her bring me, so don't be mad at her. I'll… yeah." I leaned back against the door, I hadn't been that far away from it to start, but I hadn't realized I'd moved back, either.

I was really fucking tired.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them, and I'm way behind on that, but I should get to it soon. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

LJ: http:/shadow-walker3(dot)livejournal(dot)com/51518(dot)html#cutid1


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three  
**

* * *

**APOV**

He was completely insane. Completely. He looked horrible. Like he hadn't slept in days, hell, like he hadn't been home in days. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on the night in the alley and he hadn't shaved.

And, my God, that was a long fucking apology. And he was just kind of standing there, leaning against the door like that was all that was holding him up.

Jordan piped up, "He's been waiting outside the club for three nights."

I turned to look at her for a second and then back to Tyler, but I don't think he'd even heard her. And it wasn't like anything I was going to say to him right now was going to sink in.

And, ok, I felt kind of bad. Because what no one had told him was that I'd worked all three nights after our fuck in the alley and had just come and gone through the back door. We didn't normally use the front. And if we did, it was only to leave after the place was closed. So I was there every night, the entire time he'd been waiting for me. I couldn't believe he'd actually stalked a strip club to talk to me.

"Well… you know where I live now. Is this stalking thing going to continue?"

He chuckled, shaking his head entirely too slowly. "No. I don't even know where we are at the moment, so your address is still safe. I'll never find the place again."

I didn't think it was probably a good idea to shove him out the door when he didn't even know what part of New York he was in. This wasn't exactly a great neighborhood.

"Just… point me in the direction of my apartment if it's not too much trouble."

I didn't think he realized he was starting to slur, either. I watched him for a minute and I think he got the idea that I wasn't going to point the direction out, like I was still really angry, and he moved from foot to foot for a second before moving to leave.

"Shit. Tyler, just… sit down for a while at least, ok?"

"What?"

I pointed to the couch, "Just sit down."

"Why?"

"Because you're not going to make it home and I don't want your death on my conscience. This neighborhood fucking sucks."

He looked at me for a minute and then looked at the couch like it would bite him. "I… no, that's ok. I'm fine. Really. I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

I grabbed his jacket and pulled him over to the couch, shoving him to sit. So he sat, and looked nervous, like he wasn't supposed to be there. His leg was bouncing. "I really don't want you to be nice to me," he said to the floor.

I snorted. "Don't worry, I still think you're an asshole, but you can sleep here, ok?" His eyes were already closing. "Just lie down."

He debated a minute, like he was having trouble thinking, and he totally was. Then he nodded twice and leaned back, closing his eyes. I sighed and ignored the smirk that Jordan was throwing me when I passed her to get to the closet. I grabbed a blanket and a pillow, and he was already out when I got back to the couch. I chucked the pillow in the corner and poked at him until he actually stretched out on the couch, and then I threw the blanket over him. I sighed and took his shoes off before I turned the light off and went to bed. If I skimmed my hand over his head, well, it's not like he noticed.

I didn't sleep much that night. I kept replaying the events of the last night we'd spent together and thinking about his three-night stakeout. It was confusing for me. He was confusing, and part of me didn't want to figure out the confusion, wanted to just leave it alone. He apologized and we were square and even and done. The other part was…I dunno. I couldn't understand my feelings on a lot of it because it was so strange.

I'd lived my entire life guarded; it was the only way to survive. And I let him in a little bit, even knowing that I'd probably be disappointed in the end (fucking hope). And it sucked when I'd been right. After I'd woken in his apartment, I felt kind of like I didn't belong. I snooped a little, browsing over the books that littered the entire apartment, authors and topics I knew I'd never read. He seemed to have a wide range of interests, but he liked books with ideas. He liked thinking. He probably thought too much. There wasn't a large section of fiction on the shelves and tables. He'd told me to make myself at home, and I was hungry, so… snooping led to the fridge, which was seriously disgusting. That was saying something coming from me and the places I'd been in. I had no idea what food they lived on, but the only edible thing I could find were the makings for sandwiches. I made two; I'm not sure why. I just sort of it did it automatically because I figured I was eating their only edible food and he needed to eat, too, right? I was about two bites into the sandwich when the roommate showed up.

I think he was surprised to see me there. And I think he got the wrong idea the minute he saw me. He already assumed that Tyler and I had fucked. He was nice enough, Aidan. We talked about stupid shit, and he ate Tyler's sandwich when he opened the fridge and found it, so I had to make him another one. If he wouldn't have woken up soon after, who knows how many of those I would have had to make.

When Tyler came out of the bedroom he looked just as surprised as Aidan had. I must have given off a serious bolt vibe. He was happy with the sandwich, and I realized in normal relationships those small things were really important. On sight, Tyler didn't seem very well rounded. He came across smug. And he was, actually, but he was more grounded than a lot of rich kids. And he seemed to have some sort of family _thing_ because no one with a family lawyer would be living in that place if there weren't a _thing_. Maybe his parents had shoved him out on his own to make it in the world without their money or something. Or he left. Whatever. He seemed down to earth and claimed to be able to bake a cake, which I secretly wanted to witness. It wasn't common to meet a college-aged guy who made cakes, I don't think. No idea where he would have picked that up. I teased about cooking and he did these tiny things sometimes that made my stomach flip over, like saying something about me teaching him how to cook.

We'd avoided the issue of my current employer and he asked me if I'd wanted to hang out. _Hang out._ What did that even mean? What did you do when you "hung out?" Thankfully he gave suggestions, and the minute the words _video games_ were out I was sold. And even though he didn't know it, the space in my life for Tyler grew the minute he handed me that fucking Nintendo controller. I was brought back to a light blue colored bedroom on a sticky, Florida afternoon where a cute blonde boy taught me all the button combinations to unlock shit in an Xbox game I didn't care about. It wasn't the game itself, it was the company, the escape from the reality of our situation – him, bound to a chair, me, trapped by those fucking walls and the sweet release at the ends of his fingertips. Those short memories of that place, the patched roof and siding peeling, Jeremy in his chair rolling alongside me, and trouble with Kim around every corner, were probably the happiest of my life. The countless hours Jeremy and I spent perfecting the art of gaming until our thumbs were sore always brought a smile to my face. It was the only time in my life that I allowed myself to feel something for other people, to _enjoy_ them, enjoy the time we spent, and mourn the loss.

Tyler gave that back to me with one simple controller. And he could tell I was happy, which made him smile and beam. It looked good on him. He was incredibly easy-going. I had no idea if that was just because he was trying to make a good impression or if he was really that laid back, but anything I asked him for he gave me. He let me listen to the whole Mario theme song and be Mario, and didn't get pissed off when I won again and again and again or even totally made him lose.

It was fun. Pure. There wasn't a lot of that in my life. Never had been. It was a refreshing afternoon. Legally we were both adults, but Tyler was still a big kid. He lived with no groceries in his apartment, surrounded by video games and books. This was supposed to be that odd age between when you still felt like a kid but had to live like an adult, but I'd spent so little time around other children my own age, I wasn't sure what the felt like. I'd really never felt like a kid who did kid things, save for moments here and there. I'd been an adult a lot longer. It felt nice to just be with someone still lost in that age.

You could lose yourself in video games; I think that's why Jeremy liked them so much. It made him forget he was in the chair. It made me forget I was in the group home. It made us both forget that we weren't normal kids.

I'd forgotten I was a stripper with a long and fucked up past. I'd forgotten that this time two years ago, I was still making measly dollars selling my body. I'd forgotten that guys like Jeremy still existed. I'd forgotten that my past had happy moments, even if they didn't last.

It all ended when the time got away from me. Didn't last.

I started pushing him away again because we were just going to end up there, anyway. There was no point to drawing this out anymore. It was hard, though. I did like him. He made forgetting easy. After I dropped the bomb, I left him standing there, confused and angry. I could hear them arguing and, honestly, I never thought I'd see Tyler again. I thought that would be the end of everything.

Fuck, was I wrong.

I _never_ thought he'd react that way; that he'd come down to the club and make such a huge scene. His face was set in a scowl and he yelled the entire time, coming up to the stage and throwing me over his shoulder. I screamed back at him and kicked my feet and punched at his back until the bouncer carefully set me down before tossing Tyler outside. I threw on my robe and took off my shoes quickly, not wanting him to get far before I could scream at him some more. I threw the shoes at him, my anger making my aim really fucking off target. I didn't know where all of this arguing and anger was coming from. I was nothing to him. We barely knew each other, and he seemed set on getting me on the straight and narrow like he was my fucking parole officer or something. If the club had been owned by someone other than the Reznikova brothers, that scene of his could have cost me my job. He just went way too far. It was one thing if he was upset by my job, I could have talked to him about it, but this was beyond talking because he'd taken that out of the equation the minute he'd decided to walk into the club.

I learned that night that we were both very stubborn people, and when we thought we were right, we could get really nasty very quickly. We both said shit I'm sure we couldn't take back, true or not, and it didn't make it right to say it. I was offended. I had been upfront. I'd told him the truth and he'd burned me with it, turned it on its head and used it for his benefit. Used me for his benefit. It was just a different type of hooking. And I just couldn't figure out why he even _cared_.

I saw nothing but red when he implied that my job as a stripper might have been a front for being a prostitute because it was an incredibly sore subject for me, and it was just rude. He had no idea. None. I tried to punch him and we wound up in some odd form of dance where I tried to hit and he kept dodging, and somehow we wound up in that alley. And then he was kissing me.

Everything was desperate—his hands and his mouth, his body—it was all just reaction. I could see it, and I didn't tell him to stop. His kisses were amazing, his lips slightly wet and warm, and insistent, and I kissed him back just as roughly, used to this type of reaction. He was proving me more right by the second. I didn't stop him, I wasn't sure why. I think because I hadn't kissed anyone like this, and actually meant it, actually _felt _something in so long, that it was nice. I hadn't felt a body next to mine that wasn't disgusting, or a nobody, in so many years. No one had touched me the way Jeremy used to, until then, until Tyler. His hands were desperate, but they were gentle, they were so incredibly gentle as they skimmed over my skin. I wasn't even entirely sure what to do with gentle. It was so different from the anger we were throwing at each other, too. I couldn't decide if I wanted to pull him closer or push him away, but it wasn't for lack of control, or because I felt like I was in danger, it was because I was so used to feeling nothing, or something shitty, and what I felt instead scared me. I was so intensely angry with him, but it was fighting with the feelings he was forcing to the surface, the feelings that I'd shut away. It made me angrier that he was forcing them, too, because I'd been doing fine before, not knowing what I was missing, and now, after this, if I didn't wall it back up again, I'd just be setting myself up. I couldn't do that.

The way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way this felt so much less like using and so much more like something I was actually a part of, not just a tool, it was so frustrating to sort out. His fingers on my pussy before he entered were a shock. The only time a man had checked to see if I was ready before was to make getting his dick in me easier—it wasn't about getting me ready for anything, it was just for them. I could tell Tyler checked because he wanted me to be wet, he wanted me to be ready, enjoying it. The relief on his face when I was wet was something I'm not sure I can explain for either of us because I wasn't entirely sure why I was wet. He was still being a prick, and this was still not really about _me_, but it was about me more than anything had been. At least he was putting some effort into it. I knew he wanted me to feel good, and his fingers were such a weird concept, the feel of them rubbing through my slit, so I couldn't help but moan. It felt good, so fucking good, his thumb rubbing over my clit. Usually the only kind of action my clit got was an accident, and he'd done it without me asking or anything, like it was just something he always did. Thinking about what that would have meant if this were totally about me was something I couldn't even imagine or dream of. A man who actually set out to get you off was not something I knew about.

At the same time, this was still about what he wanted. He didn't ask if I wanted this, and he didn't stop because I didn't ask him to. Even if it made me feel good, even if it brought these feelings, it couldn't change what he'd done, and I couldn't hold onto the feelings I didn't normally feel.

Instinct took over. I'd been a whore for fuck's sake, I knew how to get a guy off, to make him think I was getting off. I could make him believe anything I needed to. And I did.

When he came, I went loose, my job done, and I think I wanted to punish him. I think I wanted him to think about me and remember me, and that's why I let it finish. It was mean, I'll admit it. It was mean to tell him that I didn't come, to throw it back in his face, but Tyler was fucking wrong, and I needed to knock him down. I needed him to know that, even if I enjoyed parts, it still wasn't what it should have been, and it wasn't what he said he gave to girls. It was still shitty to treat me like that.

Was he trying to save me? Because I was not the type you approached that way, and I never told him that I wanted to be saved.

My whole punishment may have been a little harsh, and I think that we both knew that's what I'd done, I'd punished him for being an asshole, but I never dreamed he'd actually stakeout the club and wait to apologize to me. It did say something about him. That he was a pretty decent guy and he knew when he'd fucked up, and was man enough to say he was wrong and try to fix things.

I woke up smelling coffee. Jordan usually made coffee, so it wasn't unusual, but Tyler was out there and I wondered if he'd left halfway through the night or something. I looked into the living room as I walked to the kitchen and the blanket was folded up, pillow on top of it.

"Huh," I said to Jordan, "he bailed." I tried to decide if I was mad or sad about that.

"No, just trying to be neat."

I jumped. There he was, standing in the fucking kitchen. "Oh." I tried to decide if I was happy or not about that.

His eyebrows pulled down. "Would you have wanted me to bail?"

I shook my head. I didn't know what the fuck I wanted. "No," I said after a second. "No, it's fine."

He was leaning on the counter, looking down, "I made coffee. I don't know if you drink coffee. I was gonna have juice because I know you had juice the other day for breakfast, but you didn't have any, so…" He looked up at me for a second before looking down again, "There's toast."

I chuckled, "Wow. You were gonna give me my own juice, huh?"

He smirked.

"Pour it and everything?"

"Yeah. It was gonna be a full service glass of juice." He smiled.

His hair was a mess. He looked better, though. "Did you sleep ok?"

"Yeah, it wasn't difficult; I was really tired. The couch was comfortable, though. Thanks for letting me crash here."

"Sure."

He cleared his throat. I think this was the awkward part of the morning. "Did you want some toast?"

Toast. "Do we have any jam?"

"I can check." He turned and opened the fridge door, shifting things before bringing out a jar. "Strawberry." He set it down on the counter.

"Knives are in the drawer there," I pointed. "Plates are up there."

He grabbed both and put two pieces of toast on the plate, and then buttered the fucking toast and handed me the plate and the jam. He buttered the fucking toast.

"It's better with butter first," he explained.

"No, that's… fine. It's great." I sat down with my plate and started to spread the jam. _He buttered my fucking toast_. I looked up at him.

"What?" He was nervous again. "You don't like butter? I can make different toast."

"No, I said the toast was fine."

"Then what?"

"Why _are_ you still here this morning?" I just didn't get him. I mean, he was nervous now, I was making him nervous, but who apologizes like that, crashes on a couch, and then fucking sticks around to make toast? And butters it?

He sighed, "I told you I can leave if you want me to. I just thought it might be nice if I had breakfast ready for you when you woke up." He ran a hand through his hair. "You know, like the sandwich."

Oh. Aha. This was payback. I scratch your back so you scratch mine. This was language I understood. "You didn't need to do that," I told him.

"I know. I wanted to. You didn't need to let me crash here last night either, so…"

I nodded and took a bite of toast. Back to the awkward. He drummed his fingers on the counter.

"So… what are the chances of you forgetting the alley thing happened?"

My eyebrows rose. What kind of angle was this now?

He put his hand up. "No, I don't mean, like…I mean, can we start over? Go back to before you left my apartment? You don't have to forget. Fuck, I won't forget. Just… can we set it aside?"

"That doesn't make any of it go away. You still know the same shit about me and I know the same shit about you." His face fell. It wasn't like I was against the idea really. "Why should I?" I didn't ask it in a mean way, I just wanted an answer. I wanted him to tell me why I should believe he was different, why it mattered.

"You should because I came down to the strip club and threw a fit."

I snorted. Say what? "How do you figure that one? That's not gonna increase your chances, buddy. At all. I was so fucking pissed off about that. I'm still pissed. Why would you even say that? That, like, killed your chances."

"No, because I'd only known you for less than twenty-four hours and I already cared about you more than any of them. Enough to go down there and do it. If I hadn't cared at all, I wouldn't have done anything. I would have just let you walk away. Or I would have come down there and just been another one of the faceless dickheads there, yelling and pawing at you. I wasn't pissed because you're a stripper. I admit, I didn't understand it at first—it was kind of a shock to be slapped in the face with—and you knew that. You knew that I'd react that way. That's why you did it. And I was pissed because to them, to the assholes there, you weren't a person. You weren't Allison. You were an object. They way they looked at you, that was what pissed me off. I realize what a stripper does, I've had a lap dance or two, but I never lost sight of the fact that she was still a person there, and I didn't need to reduce her to something less. They didn't look at you that way."

I interrupted, "So you don't use women for sex? Is that what you're saying? You're so much more noble or something than they are?"

"Of course I've used women for sex. But they're using me back. They don't want an actual relationship with me anymore than I want one with them. It's, like, a bar code or some shit, you don't really go there for lifelong commitments. You're just lucky if you wind up meeting someone decent there who you do find something with."

"And me? What was I?"

He sighed, "I wasn't using you. I never thought of it that way. I liked you. I _do_ like you. The alley wasn't me using you. You don't have to believe me, but I don't know what else I can say. I'm still here. I came back and I'm still here. I didn't bail. What does that say to you?"

"I don't know." And I really fucking didn't. "I don't know, Tyler. I told you I wasn't good at this."

"Well, I'm not exactly a dating expert. I just… if you don't know what it is, and you don't know what you're doing, then can't we just try it? Try it and see where it goes?"

"What would that mean, exactly?"

"What would what mean?"

"Dating."

He looked confused, "Uhm… well, like… we hang out… we can go to dinner or a movie, or you can come over and kick my ass again on the Nintendo."

I smiled for a second and then thought of something else. "Where does sex fit into this?"

"Wherever you want it to."

"What if I don't want it to?"

"At all?"

Normally, I would have laughed at that. I would have laughed at the way he asked the question, but I was serious about this and he needed to know that. We needed to be on the same page. "I'm not saying never, I'm just saying not now. Is that something you can do?"

He let out a noise that was kind of a sniff but not really and he laughed. "Yeah, I think I can not have sex with you. I think I can manage to hold myself off." He laughed again, "It won't be easy, but I'll muddle through."

I squinted at him, "Are you making fun of me?"

He was still smiling, but I thought he was serious. "No, I'm not. Really. I just… I can't say I've ever had that request before: 'Please don't have sex with me.'" He waved me off, "Ignore me. Yes, I can be very patient if I want to be."

I nodded, chewing on my lip. "Where would we start?"

"Wherever you want to. Whatever feels comfortable for you."

That was definitely the first time that had been said to me. Ever. How the hell do I answer that? "Uhm. How about dinner?" I didn't mean that to be a question really, but dinner seemed safe. Dinner seemed like a good place to start.

He looked very happy. "Yeah, sure, dinner, ok. Where would you like to go?"

I shrugged, "Wherever."

"You pick."

Christ, I didn't know where to go. Did the place I pick say something? What if I picked the wrong place? This was so hard. I think he picked up on my lack of… anything helpful.

"What kind of food do you like?" he asked.

That was smart. Good question. "I like pretty much anything." That was a horrible answer!

He chuckled, "Ok. Can we narrow it down a little bit, maybe?" He was being overly nice here. "Like… Chinese? Do you like Chinese?"

Chinese sounded safe. "Yeah, I like Chinese."

"Ok. Are there any Chinese places around here that you like?"

"There's one on Lexington. It has pretty good food."

"Ok. Should I meet you here or there?"

"Here's fine."

"What time?"

"Are we doing this today?"

"We don't have to. Whenever you want is fine."

"How about tomorrow?" Today was too soon. I needed more time to think, to figure this shit out. "I don't work–" I stopped immediately.

His face didn't change at all. "It's fine. You don't work tomorrow night," he said for me.

"Right."

"Seven?"

"Yeah, seven's good."

"Ok. I'll be here at seven, then."

"Ok."

He nodded. "I should probably go now… then."

I smiled. "You can stay for some toast."

"No, that's ok. I just made the toast for you."

Interesting.

He scratched the back of his head and screwed his face up, "Can you maybe tell me which way is my apartment?"

I laughed, "Yeah. When you get to the street from the lobby door, it's that way," I pointed helpfully. "Once you get a few blocks, you'll know where you are."

"Ok. Thanks."

"Sure."

We did this awkward kind of thing in the kitchen for another few seconds where I had no idea what else to say and he looked like he wanted to say something but then he didn't. I followed him to the couch where he put his shoes on and then walked him to the door. We didn't say anything else and I opened the door for him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said as he walked into the hall.

"Yeah, see you then."

"Bye," he waved.

"Bye," I waved back.

I watched him out the window, making sure he went the right direction, and then just kind of stood there for a while. I really had no idea what the fuck had happened. I mean, I knew what happened, but this kind of shit just didn't normally happen to me. Guys didn't usually want to _date_ me. I wasn't a dating kind of girl. Maybe I was, though. Maybe I was now. I had no idea how any of this was going to go. It was a different kind of scared than I was used to. I wanted to trust Tyler, but my past and my instincts rose up to protect me. I didn't think he'd actually come here and do all of this shit if he was lying to me, but I'd been a sucker before and I didn't want to be there again. So, I could try this. I could see how long this kept up, see how long he kept up the promises, see how patient he was going to be. And if I was wrong, I'd make sure I protected myself enough to not be too hurt by it.

I think I was already kinda fucked, though. He'd gotten me to agree to dinner already. I'd sworn off men before I got to New York and I was throwing that shit out the window with this. Dinner definitely wasn't swearing anything off.

"He's cute," Jordan said, scaring the shit out of me as I stood by the window.

"Yeah."

"Shit, did he make coffee?"

"Yeah," I answered again.

"God, I love him already."

Maybe she should have dinner with him, then. Maybe I should ask her about dating. Or what you really did when you dated, how the fuck that all worked, what was expected. I felt like I was drowning in the shallow end.

I didn't ask.

"Fuck, did he make you breakfast?" she called.

"Yeah, kinda."

"Toast counts as breakfast. Especially for a guy. You gonna eat this piece?"

"No, go ahead."

She chewed loudly as she came into the living room. "And he fucking folded up the blankets and shit? Jesus."

I didn't turn.

"So, what's the deal? You like him, huh?"

"I guess."

She snorted and took another bite of toast. "First dude in two years that's been at this apartment for you."

"Yeah, well you brought him here." I hadn't figured enough of this out to have this conversation with her.

"Are you glad I did?"

"I dunno yet."

"Well you let me know when you decide." She got up and went back to the kitchen. Even if she had brought him here, that was why I loved her. She took a hint fast, and she'd leave shit alone if I didn't want to talk about it.

I didn't know if I was happy about it or not. Part of me was comfortable with just having the routine of my life. Tyler threw a huge wrench in routine. I didn't know if him asking to fuck up the routine was a good thing or not yet. The fucking hope part was excited with the idea, the chance of a regular _thing_. Regular without the whole hooker thing. That part was happy with the fuck up in routine. I guess now it was just a matter of how well he could deal with my past. I had no fucking idea how I was going to explain that. I'd never told anyone the whole story before.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them, and I'm way behind on that, but I should get to it soon. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

LJ: http:/shadow-walker3(dot)livejournal(dot)com/51518(dot)html#cutid1


	4. Chapter 4

So sorry updates have been slow. Hopefully they'll be quicker now. :) Thanks for reading!

Playlist for this chapter: http(colon)/pl(dot)st/p/22506513675 - really annoying you can't post a link in here

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**TPOV**

It was a damn good thing that I audited classes instead of outright taking them, because my grades would have been shit, and because I don't think most professors would have taken my excuse of '_Well, you see, professor, I fucked this stripper in an alley and I had to stakeout her strip club for three days so I could apologize for that' _as decent and reasonable. Probably wouldn't fly well. My job was something else—I had enough of a history with them to take a few days off, so at least I was covered there. Caroline had been a bit of a different story. She was a conniving little shit, my sister. Must have been genetic.

Truthfully, I would have agreed to just about anything she wanted—making her happy was one of my highest priorities. I supposed Michael had a lot to do with that. I wanted to keep up or emulate some example from him or something. She was important to me. And that she knew I was there, available, that was important to me. And she happened to be pretty cool to hang around with anyway.

I enjoyed picking her up from school or taking her somewhere, and we had a standing date twice a week. I'd wait for her after school and we'd hang out before I took her home. She kept me grounded, I think. Truthfully, she was probably the only thing that kept me grounded period. She was the bright spot, twice a week, in an otherwise annoying and frustrating time period. So much of everything was just… life itself was just… maybe that was why apologizing to Allison had been so important to me—because she had been a bright spot in an otherwise dull and mostly meaningless day-to-day existence. She'd come out of nowhere and threw my whole world that night on its axis. She was completely unexpected. And like a breath of fresh air. I couldn't let one mistake fuck that all up.

Naturally, when I'd called to tell Caroline I'd have to miss a few days of us hanging out, the negotiation process started. It wasn't like I hadn't missed other days—sometimes work or other shit got in the way and I'd have to hang out with Caroline another day. I didn't exactly have the same excuse with this one; I couldn't really give her one. Negotiations were most important, but eventually, she weaseled the reason out of me, too. It was the tone of voice that did it; I couldn't resist or listen to the pleading without caving to her like a complete pussy. I managed to keep the shadier parts of the story to myself, but she got the gist.

"So… why aren't you going to be there exactly?

"Uhm. Because. Just because. I've got some stuff I have to do."

"What kind of stuff?"

Shit. "Stuff. Just stuff. Adult stuff."

"Adult stuff," she repeated. In that insulted tone that she used when she knew that I normally didn't pull that kind of card on her. I tried not to treat her like a child. I'd always appreciated Michael treating me more like an equal, no matter how unbalanced that may have been.

"Yes."

"Not class or work?"

"No. Other stuff."

"Tyler. Are you ditching me for some girl?"

She said that in such an offended tone. And I'd never actually do that. Not if we had plans. "No! You know I wouldn't do that."

"So, what is the adult stuff?" She enunciated it in such a way that I could literally see her making the quotation marks in the air with her fingers.

"Shit," I said, more to myself. "Look, I screwed up, ok? And I have to apologize to someone, but it kind of requires me to hang out where they work until they show up."

"How did you screw up?"

Jesus fucking Christ. "Oh, my God. Is this the Spanish Inquisition? Did you decide to stop being an artist and take after dad as a lawyer? I promise I'll be back in a couple days. You won't even miss me."

Then she started the whining, "Tyler, it's been, like, two days already!"

I sighed, "I know, but this is really important, ok? You know I wouldn't bail on you if it wasn't really important."

She was silent. That was worse than the pleading or the whining. If she turned on the tears, I was a fucking goner. I would abandon all hope of trying to fix things with Allison because my sister ruled out in the end. I didn't want her pissed at me. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, dejectedly.

I sighed again. Christ, I think I'd smoked an entire pack of cigarettes during this conversation. "Listen, when I'm done with this, we can spend a whole day together, ok? Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Within reason."

"Dinner and a movie."

"Done."

"And an extra trip to the park. On a day not normally scheduled."

"Done."

"And two more."

"Caroline."

"You said anything!"

I took a long drag from the cigarette. Really, it was a pretty good deal. "Yeah, ok."

"And the Met."

"Now you're pushing it."

She giggled, "And the Met, Tyler."

"Fine. And the Met. Man, you're a tough negotiator." Who had me wrapped around her finger.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Little know-it-all sisters. "I never said it was a girl."

"It's a girl."

I chose not to respond.

"What did you do?"

"Just something I shouldn't have."

"Like?"

"Like something I'm not telling you."

She whined, "Tyler."

"No. I already agreed to the Met. It's not happening. Go do some homework or draw something."

"Fine."

"I'll call you when I'm done, ok?"

"Fine."

Jesus. "Caroline."

"Tyler."

"Are you mad?"

"Maybe."

This was probably harder than the damn apology would be. "I'm sorry."

"Two trips to the Met."

"Ugh, fine." Fucking A. I think I was being railroaded. "Can I go now? Because the sooner I apologize, the sooner I can get back to our normal routine."

"Ok."

"Bye, ya little–"

"It could be three, Tyler."

"Darling little sister."

"Bye, Tyler."

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

God. I didn't even know what I had agreed to. I'm sure she'd kept a list, so it'd be all plotted out for me. She'd probably hand me a schedule the next time I saw her.

So, she'd agreed to try this whole dating thing with me. And I was ecstatic. Because she had no reason to, besides the fact that I'd fucked up and I sincerely apologized, but maybe she saw something in me that I saw in her.

I couldn't exactly put my finger on what it was about her that I found so appealing. I think a lot of it was the fact that she was not what I expected. That night in the bar, she'd made me work so hard for just tiny little pieces of anything, and it was not how I'd expected the night to go. The whole arrest thing hadn't been planned either, but the fact that she stuck up for me just made me that much more interested. Because no one else I know would do that. And it was kind of a stupid move, because she had to know it was going to result in arrest, but she did it anyway, and was willing to take the consequences. It was something I would have done. It was the same thing that I'd basically done that night, but she did it for me, someone she'd just met. Whether it was principle or lapse in judgment, it was probably weird, but it meant something that she did it.

I didn't know if it was a good idea for two impulsive and potentially destructive people to get together, but maybe it'd be like a positive reaction to two combative chemicals. I wanted to know more. And for the first time in a long time, it was about her personality and not anything else. She was gorgeous, sure, I wasn't blind, and she had these amazing green eyes and it was like she could see right through the bullshit. Maybe that's what I'd been looking for, why I'd stopped randomly going to all the bars with Aidan, maybe I wanted someone who didn't buy the bullshit. Maybe I didn't care if we were potentially destructive together because it had to be better than potentially destructive alone.

I was early for dinner—mostly because I was never screwing up with anything within my control again. I walked around the block next to hers four times to kill time and then showed up at the door a few minutes early.

I hadn't been nervous for a date in a long time, probably because I hadn't actually been on an actual date in an equally long time. I knocked and waited patiently in the hallway, and was completely taken with her the minute she opened the door. She looked gorgeous. Her hair was totally different than I'd seen it the few times before, and it was down framing her face, and I managed to squeak out a 'hey' while she stepped back and let me in.

"Hi," she said, looking down after giving me a once over, too.

"You look great," I said quietly. I think my smile was near cracking my face. But fuck, I wasn't lying. She'd looked gorgeous the other times I'd seen her, even when she was in the damn strip club, but this was so… real. Like this was the real Allison that few people got to see. I couldn't really put my finger on it, but I knew that this was something that only the privileged were trusted with. So I wasn't gonna fuck it up.

I probably looked like I'd gone more insane as I stood there smiling and musing and just taking the whole fucking picture in. She had jeans on, but truthfully, I didn't make it much past the shirt. It was some sort of V-neck shirt, not a tank top because the straps were those little tiny ones – and my mind was completely at a loss for what they were called, but I was pretty sure it was some kind of pasta strap—and the shirt itself had a term, but my concentration walked right back out the door when I realized that the lil' straps and the… everything… that there was no bra. She wasn't wearing a bra, and my motherfucking lustful mind was not going to be coming up with any terms for any type of clothing in the near future. I'd be lucky if I could get back out of the apartment without walking into the door. The lil' strappy shirt with no bra was purple and black; purple background and these black doodle-like lines in patterns and shapes, and I mean, fuck all that, no bra.

Wide expanse of skin on her shoulders and her neck and her upper chest, and no bra, and I was a dead man. I was gonna be dead before we even left the building. And Christ, I hope she was gonna wear a jacket, because if there was any cold air and nipple interaction, I was seriously gonna have to jerk-off somewhere between 8th and 7th Avenue.

"Thanks," she said quietly, "you, too."

"You… ready to go?" I asked, hoping she was ready to go, and that would include the jacket.

"Yeah," she said, "lemme just get…"

Thank Christ. The jacket made focusing much easier.

"Bye, Jordan!" she called.

"Have a good time!" she called back. "Have her home before dawn!"

She rolled her eyes and shut the door.

The walk to dinner was uneventful. We chatted about inane shit and I asked about her day. I forced myself to not smoke my way through an entire pack of cigarettes in nervousness. I wanted this to go well.

The restaurant played that really generic Asian music—the kind that was half between elevator and half screaming Chinese lady. I tried to just ignore it completely, and I was pretty focused on her anyway. We grabbed a booth close to the buffet and waited for the waiter to come over.

I was literally about to open my mouth to ask her what she wanted to drink and she held up a hand.

"Can I just… I don't want to talk about my childhood or any of that shit, ok? Can we skip that for now?"

"Sure, yeah."

"And I don't want to talk about my job anymore right now, either."

"Ok."

"Or –"

"Are there any safe topics? Maybe that'd be a shorter list."

She glared at me. I smiled. "How about I avoid those, and if I ask something else that you don't want to talk about, you can just tell me then that it's off limits."

She considered this a minute. "Ok."

"Ok, so is asking what you'd like to eat and drink acceptable? Or is there some danger in me asking that?"

She smirked, "No, that's safe."

Girl liked her Diet Coke. Not that this place had decent shit otherwise; their beer selection was pitiful. That got me thinking, though.

"How old are you?"

She froze. Like, in fear.

"What?" I asked immediately.

"Why?"

"I was just curious."

She eyed me warily. "Twenty."

I snapped my fingers and she jumped. "That explains it."

She was still eyeing me in that fearful way. "Explains what?" I swear she'd gone white as a sheet.

"Why you don't drink."

Abruptly, she looked relieved. "Oh."

"What? What did you think I was thinking?"

She waved me off, looking toward the buffet as though that whole odd exchange hadn't happened at all. "Nothing, forget it."

Oooook.

"I think I'll have the buffet. Then I can pick whatever I want."

"Good choice." I waved the waiter over and he gestured for us to start.

She was fascinating to watch. She sort of threw everything on the plate in a pile; there weren't sections of food. Not that my plate was the picture of order and logic, but my cashew chicken wasn't living with my moo shu pork. If she'd have piled everything on top of rice, that I would have understood, but this was, like, one big pile together. Like the one plate was all she was gonna get.

"You do realize it's a buffet you just ordered, right?" I teased.

She looked bashful for a minute but shrugged and stuck an eggroll on top of everything.

She was less guarded this time, less so than when we went to breakfast. She was not overly talkative yet, but this was less awkward.

The topics of conversation were kind of limited, but I figured asking her about what she liked of the food was safe. I wasn't exactly hyped about talking about my past either, so I understood why she wouldn't want that to be dinner conversation. She didn't know if I was really trustworthy yet, so it could wait.

"I don't like eggrolls," I announced.

She raised a brow and probably wondered what the fuck I was talking about eggrolls for, but she chuckled and took a bite of one. "Why?"

"I think it's the consistency. Like, they taste ok, I just can't get past all the… cabbage or something. Don't even get me started on sushi."

"You don't like sushi?"

She sounded all offended.

"No. It's the seaweed. People weren't made to eat seaweed. It's just… no."

She put her hands on the table. "Tyler. I'm not sure we can continue this dinner."

I thought she was serious for a second. And panicked. I dropped my fork and everything. She started chuckling and picked up her chopsticks, smirking at me.

"That was mean," I breathed.

She laughed, "You'll live." She paused a second and then asked, "Why don't you use chopsticks? Is that some form of protest because of the sushi?"

I smirked, "No, I use them. I just didn't tonight. I don't want to give away all my secrets. I have to save shit to impress you with."

"Why? Because you suck at Nintendo and getting chicks off?"

I dropped my fork again. "Jesus."

"I never said those weren't topics we couldn't talk about."

She was enjoying this—playing with me. And of course I could say nothing, because I'd completely fucked up and guys had no leverage when they fucked up. Too bad I hadn't thought to bring flowers, but that probably wouldn't have gotten me anywhere with her.

"Do you want to talk about that?"

"No, not really," she decided.

"Ok, then." She watched me for a few seconds before looking back at her food. I blew out a breath, "So, why do you put all the food in one big pile?"

She shrugged, "Goes in the same place anyway."

"Yeah, but you can't appreciate the differences."

She looked up at me like I was insane.

"What?" I asked.

"I guess I've never worried about the differences much. I just ate it."

Fair enough. And I let silence linger for a few minutes. It wasn't really uncomfortable, but it was somewhat awkward. I'd come up with all the other topics, though, so she could try a little.

"I like these," she announced, holding it out for me.

"I can get on board with crab rangoons," I nodded.

"That's what they're called?"

"Yep."

"Huh. I didn't know it was crab."

She seemed fascinated when she did know. "How long have you eaten them and not realized it was crab?" I wondered.

"This is only the second time I've had them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "The only other time was in Vegas when Jordan ordered a bunch of shit from this really cheap place that was a ways from our apartment. Some fucking asshole had ripped me off and she felt bad because she'd kind of set it up and so she ordered Chinese…" she kind of trailed off, but she looked almost annoyed or frustrated.

"What?" I asked. I was happy, that was an actual story. It was like waiting for crumbs to fall from a cookie. She didn't normally say anything that had to do with herself, and I wanted more crumbs.

"Nothing," she said, but she was still annoyed, angrily stabbing something I couldn't identify because it was mixed with everything else.

"I didn't say anything," I said quietly. "I didn't judge or–"

"No, it's fine. I just… I didn't want to talk about my past."

"When were you in Vegas?"

Her head came up slowly. "Are you fucking deaf? I just said I didn't want to talk about it."

I put up my hands while my eyebrows shot up. "Sorry." I shuffled some food around on my plate and decided I didn't want the rest of what was on it anyway. I stood up, "I'm gonna get something else."

She nodded, but her head stayed down.

This was hard. It was back to pulling teeth again. And actually, in reference to her past, I think she would have been more comfortable with me pulling her teeth, or extracting her fingernails one by one. There was something there that she didn't want me to find out, or something that embarrassed her, haunted her.

I knew better than to pry, and I wasn't going to just spill my guts over my own pieces of haunted past, but… if we both had that, it was just another thing that connected us. I just didn't know how to really broach that subject. _Hey, so while I was contemplating fried rice and lo mein, I was thinking, we actually have a lot in common. Well, insofar as I don't really know you, but I think we do. So… if I tell you about my horrid past, you wanna share yours over fortune cookies?_

I decided on both the fried rice and lo mein and went back to the table. Her plate was largely finished and she was looking out the window again. She did that a lot. I didn't say anything, just started eating again. I couldn't work with nothing; she had to give me something back. Or the topic of all our date conversations was going to be completely food-related. And I had to pray that the food didn't spark some past memory and have her clam up for the rest of the evening.

"I'm sorry, Tyler," she said.

When I turned back, she was looking at me again. "It's ok."

"No, it's not." She sighed, "I just… I react badly to questions."

I wanted to snort and say _no fucking shit_, but the sensitive part of me made me stop myself. "Ok," I said instead. I waited for her to say something else, but she didn't. "So, does that mean I just can't ask any?"

"No. I just have to try not to freak out when you do." She took a deep breath and a sip of her drink. "I'm not used to people actually asking because they want to know… ya know?"

No. Not really. "Uhm. No?"

She chuckled. "Yeah." She thought a minute, "Usually, if someone asked me, it was for a different reason, ok?"

"Ok." I pushed down the need to ask what reason that would have been.

I think she could tell I had no real idea what the hell I was supposed to do here.

"I was in Vegas two years ago. That's where I lived before I moved here."

I nodded and didn't ask anything else. We had to start somewhere. She gave me that much.

She was chewing on her lip right before she suddenly blurted, "Do you like sports?"

I stopped chewing. "What?"

"Sports. Do you like sports?"

I blinked at her. Talk about outta left field. "Uhm… not overly so. I used to like baseball when I was a kid, but… not really anymore. I'm not very athletic." Where the fuck did that come from?

"I never really played sports as a kid. And I never really liked them, either. I think most of them are pretty pointless, ya know? Like, why would I want to try to get that really huge ball into a tiny hole."

I snorted. I couldn't help myself. "Sorry."

She glared at me a minute and then looked down at her plate. "I watched a few hockey games on TV, though. I think those are kinda interesting. I've never ice skated, and I think that must take some skill with the puck and stick and everything," she shrugged.

I really wished I would have had paper to write all of this random shit she was firing at me for analysis later. Because random shit meant volumes sometimes, and there was no way I was going to remember it. Plus, I'm sure she'd appreciate some feedback so the conversation totally didn't swing the other direction, and I was suddenly the non-conversationalist. Where was this coming from?

"Have you ever ice skated?"

"Yeah, I've ice skated. I wasn't very good at it, but it was fun in the winter sometimes. I used to like taking Caroline. I haven't in years. Maybe we can go," I suggested.

She smiled this crooked little smile, "I'd like that."

I nodded, ecstatic again, because maybe this was turning around. Maybe she just had to find her comfort zone or something. I'm pretty sure I was just sitting there, basking in my own foolish smiling, when she asked, "Who's Caroline?"

Subtle. And my stomach did one of those little flip-flops that hadn't happened in forever. There weren't occasions anymore where something someone had said made my body react that way. But she wanted to know who Caroline was because I'd mentioned her so casually, and because it was obviously another female. I smiled gently, because I didn't want to be a prick, and I didn't want her to think I was playing with her either, "Caroline is my sister."

"Oh, right." She nodded, "I remember you mentioning you had a sister."

"Yeah."

She watched me a minute, "Are you close?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"She live around here?"

I smirked, "Yeah, she lives with my mom."

"Oh."

"She's twelve."

She smacked her own forehead lightly, "Right, right, you said that before. I remember. That's… nice. I bet that's nice for her."

"She keeps me grounded," I admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I like to hang out with her because she's still a kid and she's not as tainted by the world as most people. There's just no bullshit with her. If she wants to talk about something, we talk about something. If she feels something or she thinks something, she just tells me. She doesn't worry about what I'll think about it. It's always honest." I looked down at my plate for the first time in a while and realized I hadn't really eaten any of it, and I'd kind of forgotten that we were even eating. I was sure it was cold by now.

She was studying me again—I think we did this when we thought the other person wasn't watching. Maybe I'd said too much about Caroline or my whole rant about other people being dishonest when they talked. God, I hoped she didn't think I meant her, because for a half a second there, I thought we were doing pretty well. I met her gaze and I thought she'd drop hers, but she didn't this time, she just kept staring right back. It was kind of uncomfortable when she looked at me like that. "What?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"I didn't mean you when I was talking about Caroline—I don't think you're like most people either." It was true, but I dunno, I just felt like I needed to tell her that I had already set her apart from the 'most people' grouping.

She laughed, "No, I'm probably not."

"I meant it as a compliment."

She kept smiling at me, this thin but genuine one, and I wanted her to keep it all night. "Thanks."

"You're pretty when you smile." That kind of slipped out without me knowing.

The thin smile turned into a smirk, half-embarrassed and half-flattered, I think. "Thank you," she said quietly.

I dropped my head, poking at the cold food. She hadn't touched her plate in a while either. "You done eating?" I asked.

She nodded, "Yeah, I'm done."

"You wanna get outta here?"

"Yeah, ok."

I motioned for the waiter to bring the bill and he set the tray down with two fortune cookies on it, thanking us. We both sat there a second, just looking at the cookies, and wasn't it customary to choose your cookie instead of someone else doling it out? "Pick one," I said.

She looked between the two and impulsively grabbed the one on the right. I opened the other one and cracked it, stopping when she hadn't even opened the package on hers. "What? Open it. And then you have to read it."

"Ugh." She humored me and opened the package. I think her cookie was largely destroyed in the opening.

I did echo her sentiment when I read my stupid little white slip of paper, "Ugh."

"What?" she said, suddenly all interested.

I exhaled, shaking my head. "Mine says: _About time I got out of that cookie_. What the fuck kind of fortune is that? A lame-ass joke? I want a new cookie." I tossed the little slip back on the table, nodding my head at her. "What's yours?"

She looked down at the little slip, holding it between both hands with just the tips of her thumbs and pointer fingers, like the damn thing was gonna blow away. It was incredibly cute. Her brow furrowed and then her eyes darted up to mine half-scared.

"What?"

"This is bullshit." She tossed it to the table.

"No way," I protested, shoving the slip back at her. "I got a fucking joke about getting out of a cookie, yours can't be any worse than that."

Her lips pursed, and I could tell she was reading it again, and then she just looked at me and bit the bullet. "Mine says: _Love takes practice._ I mean, at least yours was a joke, I don't even know what the fuck this means," she said, tossing the paper on the table. I grabbed it and read it over.

"Well, obviously, this is karma or something. Actually, this is totally some cosmic fuckery, I tell ya. Because I'm the ass end of the Chinese cosmic joke, and yours is all introspective and obviously geared at your station in life right now. It's the Chinese telling you that this is a great thing and that you don't need to be worried about the dating shit because it all just takes practice."

She started laughing, "That is such bullshit."

"No, no," I continued, "look at the 'Learn Chinese' word on here – yours is 'Ice Skate'—what are the odds of that? Like, next to nothing. One in a million. There is no way that this could have been rigged. You didn't pick this cookie, this cookie picked _you_."

She was shaking her head and holding her stomach, "Oh fuck, Tyler. You are so full of shit. That's hilarious."

I smirked. I thought I did a pretty good sell on that. It was kinda creepy that the word was ice skate, but weird shit happened all the time, right?

"Lew-bing," I attempted reading the phonetic spelling from the paper. "That's how you say ice skate—I think you should memorize it so you can recall when we're discussing the cosmic nature of fortune cookies and how that affects the world around us later. You might want to write down those lucky numbers, too, because you so want to use them to play the lotto—this is so your night, your moment—this is the big one. I, meanwhile, got the fucking fortune cookie shaft."

She was sort of wheezing in between her laughs and she was wiping away tears, "Jesus, Tyler. Stop. I'm gonna pee my pants or something."

I smiled. She was amazingly unguarded when she was laughing. It made me want to do it all the time. And part of me didn't want to leave the booth; I didn't want this moment to end. I didn't want to see any of her walls go back up or the smile leave her face. "I'm gonna just…" she pointed toward the restrooms, "before we leave."

I nodded. "I'll wait up front for you."

She nodded and walked off, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I totally watched her walk the entire way. The jeans fit her amazingly well, tight but not overdone, showing off her long, lanky legs. The line of the back of her shirt hung in a delicate swoop on the top and just barely covered her ass—which was a tragedy that I would have to write my Congressman about. It swayed with her hips, just enough to be noticeable, the material light and airy and, fucking hell, I had to get up or risk having to sit here for a prolonged length of time. I tried to shake the lust from my mind and was completely unsuccessful, but at least I got up and I paid the bill while I waited for her to return.

I'd grabbed her coat from the booth and held it open for her when she walked up to me. This was another thing that was obviously not something she was used to. In a weird way, I kinda liked that. That me doing shit I'd normally do was… I dunno, somehow more appreciated or something. Or unexpected. I held the door and she ducked her head with a smile as we walked out onto the sidewalk.

"So, was it as bad as you expected?" I asked as we started walking.

Her head was still down, her hair almost obscuring her face, but I could tell she was still smiling. "No, it wasn't as bad as I thought."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Are you fishing for them?"

I chuckled, "Maybe."

"I had a nice time, Tyler. Thank you."

That made me smile. "You _had_ a nice time or you're _having_ a nice time? Because if you're _having_ a nice time, why end it?"

She stopped walking for a second and turned to look at me, "What did you have in mind?"

The wariness was back, like she wasn't sure she was going to like what I was going to suggest.

"I dunno… coffee? Bowling? We can't go to a bar because you're not old enough," I said that somewhere between a smug and disappointed tone.

She chucked, "Bowling? And I never said I couldn't get into a bar. How do you think I met you, dumbass?"

I stopped walking. She stopped a few steps later and turned to me, her face blank but amused.

"Did you just call me a dumbass?"

"I did," she nodded.

I started walking again and she fell into step with me. Despite my best efforts at making her feel bad and guilty for the insult, I think she could tell I was totally faking it. Apparently, silences didn't bother her. I sighed.

"Are you done pouting now?" she asked, smiling while watching her feet.

I snickered, "I guess. You're pretty harsh. I don't think I'm the dangerous one anymore."

She laughed, "Oh, you never were. I could kill you in your sleep."

I chuckled, but something told me she probably could if she wanted to. "So, do you wanna go to a bar, then? Or you wanna do something else? We could go back to my place and play video games again, or watch a movie."

Honestly, we could walk around all night on these less than desirable streets, walk to New Jersey or ride the subway until dawn, or watch paint dry. I didn't care, I just didn't want the night to end.

"Maybe another night," she said.

I lit a cigarette and thought about that for a minute. "So…" I blew out the smoke, "does that mean you don't want to do anything else at all, or you just don't wanna go to my place?"

She bit her lip and then her tongue darted out to wet them, and of course, my gaze zeroed in right there. Shit, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew that wouldn't be well received and I'd promised to be good. Problem was, I already knew what it was like to kiss her and, like a junkie to heroin, I wanted it again.

"Uhm… I just don't think it's a good idea to go back to your place now, no."

I smirked, "Afraid you won't be able to keep your hands off me, huh?"

She let out a noise that I couldn't identify, "Something like that, yeah."

"Hmm…" I took a long drag of the cigarette again and stuck my hand out to stop her from walking out into the street at the end of the block—that whole looking down thing was great for not tripping and bashfulness or whatever, but shit for not being smeared by a car.

She turned her head and looked at my arm and then looked up at me. I loved her eyes. There was so much going on behind them, so much flickering. It would have been nice to know what was happening up there sometimes. Maybe someday she'd trust me enough to let me know.

"You know I'd never do anything that made you feel uncomfortable again, right? I meant what I said, what happened in the alley, it won't happen again. I swear, going to my place is not code for 'we're gonna fuck now.'"

Her eyes never left mine, and then she nodded, seeming to decide that I was telling the truth. "Thanks," she motioned to my arm.

"No problem." We walked across the street and when we hit the other curb, I nudged her with my elbow. "Might help if you looked up once in a while," I teased.

She nudged me back, "Shut up."

"You want me to walk you home?"

Her pace slowed for a second and I adjusted mine as well. Her lip went behind her teeth, "Coffee. Let's have coffee."

I smiled and nodded. What I really wanted to do was jump up and down and throw my fist up in victory, but, ya know, I had to be cool about it.

"There are quite a few 24-hour places around here. If you're up for a little longer walk, we could go to Tick Tock Diner. The place is pretty cool, and they have really awesome desserts, but they probably have about the worst service in Hell's Kitchen, if not all of New York. Have you ever been there?"

"I don't think so."

"You wanna go there? We're already walking that way anyway."

"Sure, ok."

"Great." Right then, we had, like, four more blocks. Conversation for those blocks should probably not include my ecstatically soaring happiness. Instead, I blurted the first random thing that entered my mind. "What's your favorite color?"

She let out a short bark of laughter and then craned her head at me. Hey, she asked the sports one. I shrugged.

"Uhm. I don't know if I really have one."

"Everyone has a favorite color," I argued.

"I've never really thought about. Ok, then, what's yours?"

"Never thought about it? Blue," I said immediately. "Although, lately, I think a lot about green."

I hadn't really meant to say that. Not out loud and not to her. It probably sounded like some kind of pick up line, but that wasn't my intention. I wasn't trying to be charming. I darted my eyes to her, trying to gauge how she was gonna take it.

Her head was down again, so I couldn't see much, but I thought there was a hint of a smile there. I cleared my throat, "So… what's yours?"

"Blue. Definitely blue."

Holy shit. "Really?"

"Yeah. Totally. Sometimes a bluish green." Her eyes cut to mine for a second and then back to the pavement, chewing her lip. "Grayish-blue," she shrugged.

Score! The euphoria was threatening to bubble out—it could be potentially embarrassing. I'm sure I was smiling like a homicidal maniac. "So… was that always your favorite color?"

"No, just recently. I told you, I didn't really ever think about it."

"Not even as a kid?"

"No." That was a definitive kind of answer, so I didn't press it.

"So, when did you start liking blue?"

She shrugged, "Couple days ago, I guess. I went into this bathroom in a bar, and the tile in there was really pretty. Had all these, like, flecks, I guess, of green and gray."

Wait, what? "What?"

I slowed my walk and she turned around but kept walking slowly backwards. "What? What did you think I was talking about?"

She was smirking.

I just got played. I sighed and picked up the pace, falling back into step with her. "You know, you've got a real knack for dashing a guy's hopes."

She stayed backwards for a few more feet, nudging me again with her elbow and chuckling, "Oh, come on. All that bullshit about green being your favorite color? That was a total line. I was just giving it back."

I shook my head, "It wasn't a line. I didn't mean it like that. It just kinda came out."

"You didn't mean to tell me that your favorite color just happened to be the same color as my eyes."

"No, I didn't mean to tell you, because I figured you wouldn't take it well," I shrugged. "I figured you'd think it was a line, but you didn't give me any shit about it, so I thought maybe you just… thought it was sweet."

"You were going for sweet?"

Ugh. "I wasn't going for anything. Does everything have to have an agenda?"

"Usually," she nodded.

I stopped again. "I think about you a lot. That's the truth. And you should know that's the truth because I staked out your workplace for three days."

"Yeah, that was kinda creepy."

I laughed, "Yeah, I guess it was."

"I mean, you could be a fucking stalker for all I know. You could be a serial killer, a total psycho." She helpfully made the _Psycho_ stabbing motion for my benefit, complete with an attempt at the screeching violins.

"Do I strike you as the serial killer type? What tipped you off? The lack of food in the fridge? The video games?"

She shrugged, "No lock on the door. That's what did it."

We started walking again.

"I don't love my mother in that Norman Bates way."

"What?"

"_Psycho_. Norman Bates."

She shook her head.

"You just made the whole," I demonstrated the stabbing motion again, "thing… from _Psycho_. Norman Bates is the main character in the film… the dude who kills everyone as his mother."

She shrugged her shoulders at me.

"You mean to tell me you know the stabbing thing but not the actual movie?"

"I dunno, I guess not."

"That is a travesty."

She chuckled, "I wouldn't know."

"Well, we have to rectify this. What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"I have to work tomorrow."

Letting that one pass. "What about the day after?"

"Work," she nodded.

"You wanna come by after?"

"That'd be, like, after bar time, Tyler."

I shrugged, "I'll sleep during the day."

She chuckled, "You're either a stalking serial killer or really…"

"What?"

She giggled, "I was going to say pathetic."

I made sure my face showed no emotion. We walked in silence for a few minutes while I thought about that and made her wait. She got more fidgety the longer the minutes stretched. It was the only time during the walk where she actively looked at me without me saying something. We rounded the corner for the diner and I held the door for her.

She took a step inside and then back out and looked up at me, "I don't think you're pathetic. I was just giving you shit. Are you mad?"

All the bullshit and the teasing, it was fun, it was cute, but this I think was who she really was. Her eyes were imploring, afraid that I was really mad about what she said. Like she was scared it had ruined the whole evening or something. Her eyes never left mine the entire time.

I glanced away and sniffed, sighing. "No, I'm not mad. But you're buying the coffee. And I might want pie. Ice cream is not optional."

She smiled, her whole body relaxed and she did this almost full-body head nod thing before she ducked in the door. I chuckled and followed her to a booth. Her eyes roved over the interior of the place. She blinked a few times as we sat down.

"It's a little busy with all the neon and chrome, but I think the place has character. I like the 50s style."

She nodded, "I like the hubcap lights."

"Caroline used to beg my parents to bring her here for birthdays." I shrugged, "It's a cool place."

She nodded, "I like it."

Our waitress was very disinterested and rather rude, keeping with their theme of awesome atmosphere with awful service when we ordered. "Two coffees, and what kind of pie do you have tonight?" I asked as politely and unassuming as I could.

"We're outta blueberry and some brat just ordered the last peanut butter, I think. We got apple and Oreo left."

"Apple, then, unless you'd suggest something else?"

She chewed her gum at me as way of response.

"Apple it is, then," I answered. "_À la mode_."

"Right," she turned to Allison, "and for you?"

"Just the coffee."

And then she was gone. "Quite the personality," I smiled.

"Thankless job."

I nodded, "Yeah, I guess it is."

"If you think you're eating some of my pie, you've got another thing coming."

She smiled, "No, I'm good. I don't like pie very much."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Don't have a favorite color. Don't like pie. Never seen _Psycho. _We have a lot to cover."

She smiled at me. "I guess."

"Does that mean you're gonna come over after work?"

"Do you turn to dust in the sunlight? Is there some reason I can't come over in the day?"

I laughed, "No, you can. I have class on Tuesday and Thursday and I work during the day. The bookstore doesn't keep night hours," I winked.

She rolled her eyes. "You work at a bookstore?"

"Yeah. At the Strand."

"What… what are you going to school for?"

I shrugged, "Beats me. I just take classes that interest me."

"So, you don't have, like, a major or whatever?"

"No."

She nodded.

"Does that surprise you?"

"No, not really. Just wondering."

"Wondering if I have any ambition in life?" I smirked.

"No, I don't really care. I was just wondering."

Huh. "You don't care that I have no ambition?"

She shrugged, "Should I?"

"Most people do. _Tyler, you have no direction. Tyler, you need to figure out what you're going to do with your life. Tyler, you need to pick an area and stick with it. Tyler, are you just going to work at that bookstore forever?_ Those are usual topics of conversation. Or my favorite: _Tyler, I'm worried about you_."

I thought I'd get more of a smile out of that, but she was staring at me instead. "It's nice they care enough, though."

Not where I wanted that to go. "Yeah." I figured, if we were in that area, I could give it a shot. "You have aspirations to do something other than stripping?"

I got the stare again. I'm not sure it ever left, actually.

I waved a hand, "I didn't mean it like that. It's just a question. I'm just wondering if you're, like, putting yourself through school or saving up for something, or… just, whatever."

She looked down at the table, shredding her napkin, "I don't really think about it. It's just what I do right now."

And here was me, not pushing. The waitress came back with the coffee and the pie and basically dropped it and left. "It may be thankless, but she could be slightly friendly. I mean, her tip is based on service, right?"

"I'm paying for it, right? So I'll worry about the tip, just eat your pie."

I raised my eyebrows at her and took a bite of the pie. Here was me, following directions. "You want some?"

"I thought I couldn't have any."

"I thought you didn't like pie."

She smirked, "I'll have some ice cream."

I pushed the plate in her direction. "I won't tell if you steal a bite of the pie."

She had some of the ice cream but not the pie. "I don't like pie," she pushed the plate back.

I smiled, "I have _Psycho_ on DVD. You wanna come over and watch it during the daylight hours tomorrow?"

"Are you asking me for a date to watch a horror movie?"

"Yep."

"What time?"

"Two?"

"You might get sick of me if you see me too many days in a row."

"I highly doubt that. We could order in for dinner. My treat, as long as you don't insult me for being pathetic."

She chuckled and I ate some more pie, pushing the plate back to her. I didn't touch the ice cream, leaving it for her. She looked down at the plate and I held out the fork. She grabbed it and took another bite of ice cream. "Ok."

"Do you normally like horror movies? 'Cause I technically wouldn't even classify _Psycho_ as a horror. Or if it is, it's horror classic, which is not the same as today's horror."

"I don't watch a lot of movies. I don't think they'd scare me or anything. What do you mean horror classic?"

"Well, classic horror was more about what you don't see than what you see. It was more suggestive and scary because you filled in the blanks. You don't necessarily see people get killed, you see the aftermath. Today's horror are mostly about gore and showing everything instead of suggestive. It's not really scary, it's just gross and in your face. And most of it, if you've seen it once, you've seen it all. I'd consider _Psycho_ more of a thriller," I shrugged.

She was smiling when I finished my description.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?" I pressed, sliding the plate back and forth again.

"You think about that a lot?"

I smirked, "You asked. I just provided my opinion."

"Which do you like better?"

"Depends, I guess, what I'm in the mood for. Sometimes mindless gore is preferable to filling in the blanks. I get more freaked out by the psychological thriller, I guess. The gore isn't always believable. Have you ever seen the Freddy movies or _Friday the 13__th_?"

She shook her head, "I think I saw part of one of them when I was younger, but not a whole one."

"Those were scary as a kid, but only because the whole idea of the killer is scary, and he's all deformed and gross or whatever. But once you get to be a certain age, or once, like, the third movie in the same series is out, it's all the same. It's the same story line; he kills people and the movie's over. Not a whole lot of entertainment. Classic horror you can watch more than once and constantly pick up something new. It's subtler. I like the subtlety. And I can appreciate the work that went into not showing something. I think that's harder to convey."

Film 101, according to Tyler Hawkins.

I lowered my gaze back to the pie and told myself to shut up because there was no way she was interested in horror film theory from my viewpoint. That was probably incredibly boring. I risked a peek up at her and she was just watching me. I pushed the plate over and scratched at the back of my hair. "I'll shut up now. Sorry, I get a little… carried away."

She grabbed the fork from me, "No, I liked it. I… like when you talk. People don't talk to me that way. It's nice."

She didn't look at me at all when she said it.

I was curious, "How do people talk to you?"

She smirked, but sadly. "They don't really. Or, if they do, it's at work and," she made a vague hand gesture, "it's not really… it's not talking like this. This feels really… normal."

I nodded. Normal. I liked normal. Normal was good. Normal was very good. She thought we were having a normal date. Normal dates were awesome. "I'm glad," I smiled. "So, I'm weird… but this is normal?"

She chuckled, "Yeah, I guess."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah, it's good."

"Do you like popcorn?"

She laughed. "Sure. Why?"

"We can have some for the movie."

"Oh. Ok."

"Butter or no butter?"

"Uhm, butter?"

"Butter is good. I can even make it. Pre-buttered. In the microwave. Comes in a bag, but I'll even put it in a bowl."

"Wow, I should be impressed, right?"

"Yeah. I don't make buttered popcorn for just anyone."

She smiled while looking down. It was incredibly cute when she did that, and the fact that her napkin was confetti on the table. It was a nervous thing, I think, so I didn't point it out, but it was cute, too.

The waitress appeared suddenly—I'd forgotten we even had one. "You want more coffee?"

"Yeah," I said, pushing my cup over, "thanks."

"I'm good, thanks," Allison said.

The longer I drank coffee, the longer she had to hang out with me. That was my reasoning. And this place served breakfast, so if it was late enough, we could just transition meals.

"You don't want any more coffee?" I asked.

"No, I'll never sleep tonight if I have any more."

New strategy! Abort coffee! "You want something else? A soda or something?"

She chuckled, "No, soda would keep me up, too—caffeine."

"Get something without caffeine."

She smiled, "Can I just have a water?"

The waitress seemed more annoyed with me. "Yeah, I'll get the water." The only quick service we got was the water—she brought that the next minute. Figured. When I wanted her to be slow, she was all Johnny-on-the-spot.

"You want anything else? To eat?"

"No," she chuckled, "I'm good."

The waitress left again and I hoped she took as long to come back as she had to ask us if we wanted anything else. "You come up with your favorite color yet?"

"Nope."

"You like Pepsi or Coke?" I asked.

She laughed, "I don't care."

"You don't have an opinion about much, huh?" I teased.

"Not about those things."

"Those things? Like trivial things?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. I think she was trying to spare my feelings in case I was somehow offended by her calling some of the topics trivial. "Just… stuff like that."

"So, you'd have an opinion if you thought about it, then?"

"Maybe," she shrugged again. "Everyone in the South just calls all soda 'Coke,' though. If it's anything dark, it's Coke."

"So… if I wanted a Root Beer, I'd order a Coke?"

"No, you'd order a Root Beer, but they'd refer to it all as Coke."

"Wait, so… like, I'd order a Root Beer and they'd bring it to the table and say 'Here's your Coke'?"

She chuckled, "Well, some might. But it's more like, when you talk about soda, if it's dark, it's just a Coke."

"I don't get it."

"It's a Southern thing, it's ok. They even call, like, grape soda, grape Coke. You just kinda get used to it. Like, they say, 'How's your grape Coke?'"

"Huh. Did you like the South?"

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged, "I dunno. Like… climate or atmosphere. Is it different from here?"

"Everything is different from New York," she smiled.

"How?"

"It just is. Everything here is really fast. The people are fast, and they really don't pay attention to you at all. That's not all that different from other places, but…" she shrugged.

"Do you miss the weather?"

"Sometimes. The heat here sucks just as much as it did there, but they didn't have snow and that was ok."

I laughed, "Yeah. The snow can be pretty sometimes."

"Yeah. It's different."

Not that our weather discussion was captivating or anything, but I was enjoying it because she could have talked about mud and I would have been hanging on her every word. And wouldn't ya know, the completely inattentive waitress—until I wanted her to be inattentive—was back with the goddamn bill. We didn't need the bill! We weren't done yet! She dropped it at the end of the table and I reached for the paper but little fingers snatched it before I could get there.

"Allison, I was joking," I said.

She shook her head, "Fair's fair."

"Really. Seriously, I was joking. Gimme the bill."

"Tyler," she stared me down, "you bought dinner. I said I'd buy the coffee. I'm buying the coffee and your pathetic pie. So shut the fuck up."

I smiled, raising my hands, "Ok."

She got up from the booth and I begrudgingly followed her to the front of the diner. Damn inopportune waitresses and their penchant for ruining my good time. I stuck my hands in my pockets while she paid, and it was weird waiting for a girl to pay. It just… seemed wrong. She didn't seem to think it was odd at all and just turned for us to go.

She held the door for me on the way out, smirking.

"My, how the tides have turned," I said. "You know, you keep holding doors and shit, and buying me pie, I'm gonna get spoiled."

She seemed incredibly pleased with herself, but she didn't give me any retort. The walk back to her apartment seemed blindingly short and I couldn't really recall what we'd talked about. We both got quieter when we got to her block. I really didn't want it to end and I hoped her silence was something similar.

We were climbing the stairs to her floor when she said quietly, "I had a really nice time, Tyler."

She looked down when she said it, bashful or some shit and, holy hell, I felt high. Just that simple statement meant this had gone well, despite the rocky start. That meant there might be more. I mean, I knew there was tomorrow already, but she wasn't just being nice or cordial or going out with me because there was literally nothing better for her to do. God. I needed to shut up and take a mental breath, and shut up. Stupid. And I better fucking say something.

"I did, too. Thanks for giving me another shot."

Yes, and things were going so well it was prudent to bring up that piece of my asshole history. Excellent. As soon as she was inside the apartment, my head was going to find the nearest wall and bounce off of it a few times.

We got to the door and she unlocked it. I didn't ask to come in and she didn't offer, and I figured a goodnight kiss was probably pushing my luck for the evening. I backed up a step to give her some room and shoved my hands in my pockets so she wouldn't feel obligated to do anything.

"So… I'll see you tomorrow, then. Two? My place?"

She nodded, biting her lip, "Yeah, two."

I made some sort of waving hand gesture that I'm sure made me seem mentally challenged and was actually quite relieved when she shut the door. There was too much excitement and psychosis bubbling and it would be a good idea if the display was not something she witnessed at this early juncture. There may have been some sprinting down the stairs in glee, and a fist pump in the air to no one, and an embarrassing little dance at the bottom of her stairwell that some creepy-ass chick saw, but I couldn't really be bothered to care.

When I hit the street, I was happy—a level of happiness that I normally only experienced anymore when I was with Caroline. And I left her apartment wanting to do something I hadn't done in quite some time. I walked to the diner that Michael and I always ate at, and I wrote to him. I sat there through the night and breakfast, and even though I hadn't done it in a while, I wasn't sure why I was still doing it at all. Maybe I held out hope that there was some way he could still see it or hear me, but the probability of that was nonexistent. Maybe I just couldn't let go of the connection completely, wanted it back so badly that I resorted to talking to my dead brother instead of someone living. Maybe it was that I wasn't close enough to anyone else to have these kinds of conversations.

Who the hell knew? I was talking to myself anyway, but I needed to get it out. I just wanted to tell someone about her. Someone who wouldn't waggle their eyebrows and drop stripper references.

_Michael,_

_So, I met someone. Someone different and opposite and refreshing, and I think you'd love her. I haven't felt this… I haven't felt anything in a really long time. And I'd forgotten how addicting it is right from the start. In a lot of ways, she's sort of indescribable. Part of that is because she's hard to read, hard to get things out of, hard to get to know. The other part stems from this mass of contradictions that encompass her. She is nothing but contradictions. _

_I think that probably has something to do with her job. See, she's a stripper, and on the stage—even though I was seeing nothing but fiery red anger—her body is amazing and lithe and sensuous, her back elegant and smooth, and her legs never end. The outfit she was wearing—if you could even call it that—left very little to the imagination. Everything I couldn't see, I have no doubt it's equally amazing. Her breasts are small but perfect, and certain lustier parts of myself were disappointed that I didn't get to study more of that before I pulled her off the stage. That made me feel like such an asshole, but I couldn't help it. Maybe I was slightly more redeemed because my intentions when I looked at her were nobler than all those faceless dicks there? _

_From just the few times we've spoken, I can't figure her out. The sexual on-stage and the off-stage versions weren't likely to be the same girl, this I realized, but the whole contradiction thing just sparked there, too. She was like a strutting jungle cat on stage, like she was just waiting for her prey. Off-stage, she seemed somewhat bashful about anything sexual. Or just constantly guarded, but against what I didn't know, and she wasn't likely to tell me. _

_She was so guarded, but when the walls slipped, there was so much there. It was like anger and pain and childhood innocence all flickered like a movie reel in between genuine amusement and teasing, all on a constantly changing loop. When those walls slipped, her eyes reminded me of Caroline's—so much promise and wonder that sometimes shifted to sadness or blankness. Caroline did that when she was drawing sometimes; Allison did it when the movie reel became too much. _

_The intensity in her eyes; her eyes expressed everything I felt. I had no idea if my eyes were as expressive as hers, but all the anger and pain and confusion—and the fact that I couldn't reconcile the way the world really was with the way it should have been—it drew me to her. I wanted to get lost in her eyes instead. Her gaze was normally filled with wariness that never went away, and underneath it were all these layers. Fierce and innocent at the same time. She seemed so strong, but her actions made her seem vulnerable—the way she pulled the cuffs of her shirts over her hands, the way she folded up on the couch or made herself as tiny as she could in a chair. Like she was used to being small. I didn't like that idea. _

_Then there were times like tonight, when I asked her some inane and random question, and her eyes lit up and the wariness dropped away and there was a girl under there that just wanted to be unguarded and happy. I think it surprised even me how much I wanted to see that all the time, how much I wanted to make her unguarded, to keep her happy, at any cost. _

_And I almost fucked it all up, Michael. The details aren't really important anymore, but when I was basically stalking this girl to apologize, to try to make amends for something I did unintentionally but should have had the brains to know better, all I could think about was something Gandhi had said. He said that "whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it's very important that you do it." I've always agreed more with the first part than the second; but meeting this girl, Allison, I wonder if all of it isn't true. _

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

Blog: http:/htf-wtrm(dot)blogspot(dot)com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Playlist for this chapter: http(colon)/pl(dot)st/p/22613604875

* * *

**APOV **

Tyler was going to be here in an hour and I was totally losing my fucking shit. I didn't know why I was even doing this. This was going to be a complete disaster. What business did I have dating this guy anyway? This was Jordan's area. She was the dater. She was the one who brought guys home, or had a guy around for more than a night. I was the celibate one.

Christ, it wasn't even about that—sex wasn't even in the picture right now—I'd told him that upfront. That would have probably been easier. This other shit—this dating shit—I didn't know how to date. What do you wear? What did I do when we were at the restaurant? How do I get around topics that I don't want to talk about? What if we ran out of shit to talk about? What do you even talk about? I didn't even know if we had anything in common. I wasn't even on the fucking date yet and I was already a fucking mess. I didn't want to ask Jordan. I was an adult; I was supposed to know this shit. Or I wasn't supposed to be this nervous about it. I didn't even know what I was stressing about. I didn't know anything. Jesus fucking Christ. I needed help. So much help.

I finally just bit the bullet and asked. "Jordan?"

"Yeah?" she called from her bedroom.

"What do you wear on a date?"

There was silence, then the sound of something falling over, and then she was in the doorway. "You have a date?"

"Jesus, it's not _that_ surprising."

"Uh, yeah. It is." She nodded.

I stood in front of my closet and looked over the clothes. It was kind of amazing. This was the most clothing I'd ever owned. It wasn't really a lot of clothes either, but more than I'd ever had in one place. Being in a place and staying there meant I actually kept more shit. It was surprising how much I'd collected in the time I'd been in New York.

"So… is it that Tyler guy?" she asked, moving to stand next to me.

"Yeah."

"Ok." I think she was excited. "What are we going for?"

"What do you mean?"

Her eyebrow rose. "I think you know what I mean. What look are you going for? Are you trying to be sexy? Are you trying to be casual? Are you trying to be a slut? What's the objective?"

I chuckled nervously. "Uhm, casual. Definitely casual."

"Right." She nodded. "But not, like, pajamas and I'm-so-comfortable-with-you-because-you're-like-my-brother-casual. We want at least a little bit of an edge."

I smiled slightly. Sure. We could go with that. "Right."

She clapped her hands and immediately starting taking out items of clothing. "Jeans, then, I think. And the shirt can be a little edgier. But you'll have to wear a coat, so… it can't wrinkle."

Holy shit. Was this what I was supposed to be thinking about while getting ready? That I didn't want to be wrinkled? I was stressing over so much other shit, wrinkled clothing was the farthest from my mind. She was talking, but I was sort of panicking, so I think I missed a lot. I hope there wasn't advice in there. "Yo, Allison. Are you with me?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"What's wrong?"

Nothing. Just thinking about calling him and telling him this was a bad idea. Panic and fear and nervousness and everything.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes," I managed.

"Why?"

I gave her a look and she held up another shirt to look at me. "Does he know?"

"Know what?"

She rolled her eyes. "What does he know about you?"

"Next to nothing."

"And what scares you more? That he knows next to nothing and he wants to date you, or that he'll find out and be gone?"

"I don't know which one scares me more. I think the second one."

"Well, he took the stripper thing pretty well, I think. All things considered."

I glared at her again.

"Hey, he came and apologized and shit. He seems like a decent guy. I mean, he keeps coming back. You can't say he's not persistent."

"Yeah, I just don't know why he is. It's confusing."

Jordan smiled. "Well, he's a guy. And he's into you. That means he's gonna keep coming around until you tell him to fuck off."

I sighed and sat down on the bed. "I just don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if this is worth it. If he's worth it. If I'm worth it. Christ. I just think it's a bad idea. I swore I wouldn't do this. I wouldn't be in a relationship of any kind. Too much bad shit. And you can never tell what a guy's really like. I think it's just easier not to have one."

She sat down on the bed with me. "I think that's the fear talking. Who wouldn't want a decent guy if they came along?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Me."

"They're kind of like big animals. You feed them, water them, every once in a while they get laid or a blowjob and they're good to go. They're rather easy to please."

"See, that's what I don't want. I don't want a pet. And I don't know if I'm ready for a relationship that includes sex. I don't even know what that means unless they're paying for it or slapping me around."

"Well, that's not the typical way of a relationship—the slapping around thing."

"I just don't want to fuck up what I've got here, ya know? I've worked really hard to get to this place. Even if it's still as a stripper."

"Allison, you've come so far. I don't think it's a matter of one or the other. I think you can have both. And maybe Tyler's the guy you can do that with. Maybe not. But you'll never know if you don't give it a chance. Give him a chance. And if he hurts you, I'll kill him."

She said that so coolly, and with a smile, I couldn't help but smile back. Like it was just a given. A truth.

I nodded and took a deep breath. "Ok. So, will this shirt wrinkle?" I pointed to the one she had in her hand.

"I think this one is perfect." She smiled and then basically pleaded, "But don't wear those ratty sneakers tonight. You have that decent pair that looks more like you bought them last month instead of at birth like the others, 'k? Please? For me?"

I chuckled, "Yeah, ok."

She happily squeezed my arm and then pushed me off the bed. "Ok, so change. What else do you wanna know?" She folded her legs under herself and looked at me expectantly.

I started changing. Nudity among fellow strippers was sort of like what I imagined locker rooms to be like—it was so common that there wasn't much embarrassment. She'd seen me during much worse. For some reason, though, the idea of Tyler seeing that terrified me. There was no reason to be nervous about your body when a dude was paying. He didn't care what you looked like. He had only himself in mind. You became largely irrelevant. By myself, I'm sure I had my share of insecurities, but I never really had the reason to worry about them.

I tried to think of shit to ask Jordan, but my mind was racing in all sorts of other directions. "Uhm. I really… dunno. I feel completely… I don't even know where to start."

"Well, where are you going?"

"That Chinese place on Lexington."

"Booth or table?"

"I dunno. Whatever they give us, I guess. Why do I want one or the other?"

"Booths are cozier. Tables tend to be less private."

"Ok."

"What do you normally talk about?"

I scoffed, "We haven't really. I mean, we talked that night we got arrested, and we talked about video games a little, and then the alley happened and all that shit."

"Well, what do you already know about each other?"

"Not much. And I don't want him to know all about," I gestured wildly while hopping to get my jeans up, "everything right now."

"Ok, so set some ground rules before you really start. Like, I don't want to talk about this, or that and ask him if that's cool."

"Ok."

"Then it's just about getting to know each other."

"I just don't…"

"What?"

"I don't feel like I have any… skills for conversation. I mean, I don't know shit like he does. What could we possibly have to talk about?"

She scoffed, "I'm sure he's not _that_ intellectual. He seems down to earth, too. Just keep it simple. Simple shit can tell you a lot."

"Like what? What kind of simple shit?"

"Like… I dunno. Ask him if he likes sports. Or music. Or if he likes movies. Just stupid shit, but it keeps the conversation going. I mean, you can ask him deeper shit, too, but don't ask him anything you don't want to or can't answer. Because he'll ask you the same—that's fair."

I nodded. I felt so out of my league. Not that I thought Tyler was _better_ than me or something, just… out of my element.

When we got to the restaurant, that seemed to blow up even more in my face. I felt so… completely out of place. Like this was not something that strippers did on a Tuesday. I didn't know what they were supposed to do on a Tuesday, but this seemed too… normal.

And it was so fucking hard. Because I was constantly pulling back—but Jordan's advice kept playing in my head, too. I was so afraid of something slipping out that I didn't want him to know this early, or just talking in general—I didn't talk to many people. And when I did, it was definitely not this type of conversation. I listened to a lot of guys grunt at me, or say nasty, dirty shit to me. I could deal with that. I knew how to handle those guys. Guys like Tyler, when they were _nice_, that was something I wasn't sure how to deal with. I had guards up 24/7, and I had a tendency to shut him down because that was easier. I wasn't used to someone actually wanting to know me—anything about me.

Things weren't going well. I'd been fuzzy with details. I'd laid out the things I didn't want to talk about a little too harshly, I think, and he just kept trying. I had to try, too. Jordan's question thing was genius. It wasn't too deep, but it gave us a chance to at least get a feel for one another. I didn't learn a huge amount about him, but he didn't about me, either. It was comfortable. It was a level I was comfortable with. Ease into it. That was the last thing Jordan had said to me before he came to the door.

Once I loosened up a little, things flowed much easier. It was fun. I hadn't teased someone and had them actually like it in a long time. It was fun to push it, to see what he'd take. He was easy to get along with, easy to talk to.

Jordan was right, too—he was persistent. It wasn't too much, he was just… happy. It was like he was just happy to spend time with me. And I had to admit, I kept saying yes because I liked it, too. I liked spending time with him.

Tyler wasn't the typical guy I ran into. He opened doors and held them, and brought jackets and shit. He held out arms so people not paying attention wouldn't get run over by speeding cabs. And part of me wanted to laugh at that, to laugh at the showy side of it, because, c'mon, was that really for real? Did dudes actually _do_ that kind of shit? It seemed very… outdated. Very Disney-film. I didn't think it was common. Or maybe I'd just run into so few actual… gentlemen that it seemed unreal. The only other man that had ever done that kind of shit for me was Doug, so it wasn't completely strange, but with him it seemed more dad-like. It seemed more fitting for him. Tyler was young and he was cute enough that I didn't think he needed to use that to get chicks.

Thing was, it didn't stop. He didn't drop it after the restaurant or anything. And the putting his arm out thing—it had been nice. I mean, great that he didn't want his date to be smeared all over the road, but… Tyler had something in his eyes that always made it seem so real and honest. Like it wasn't an act. Or that he might have cared beyond his potential sex partner being dead before he got laid. In New York especially, but everywhere I'd ever been really, no one cared about anyone else. My death by cab wouldn't have brought anyone to my rescue. I would have been lucky for a 911 call. No one was going to push me out of the way either. Had Tyler not been with me, no one else was stopping me. My death would have just been part of the rest of the night. No news mention. No one to care, except maybe Jordan, and Doug and Lois on the string, wondering why I never called again. But this dude I just met… it was confusing, but exciting, too. To think that he might really be that sweet.

I never really knew what to expect. In a good way for once. It was nice. Refreshing that I didn't have to prepare for him being a dick all the time, or wait for him to get all grabby or pushy. At least I hadn't yet. I hoped I wouldn't have to worry about that. His track record was pretty good if one date was enough to judge by.

I suppose I was even more nervous for the second date. Because of that reason. I'd really only had one to go by. And this was bringing me back to his place. In another way, I was relieved that this would either make or break his word. If he was gonna be a dick, his apartment would be the place to do it.

"Going out?" Jordan asked as I grabbed my jacket from the hall.

"Yeah, I'm not sure I'll be back before work, but if not, I'll see you there."

"Where ya goin?'" she asked way too happily.

"None of your business," I said back.

"Ooh… got another date, huh?"

"Maybe."

"He put out yet?"

I turned to glare at her. "Fuck off, Jordan."

She laughed. "Where's this one?"

"His place."

"He gonna put out today? Kinda early for a romantic dinner."

"It's not a dinner. We're just watching a movie. God, mind your own business. Do I ask you about the guys you see?"

"That's different. I've always seen guys. You don't see guys."

"So?"

"So, it's different. I'm just checking up on ya, making sure he's treating you right. You've seen him for, like, three days straight. You realize that's more than anyone else besides me sees you, right? It's a big deal."

"Yeah, whatever. I'll see you later." I left without waiting for her to say anything else.

It wasn't that I didn't appreciate her asking or wanting to know where I was. I mean, it was smart. We always looked out for each other, and on the off chance Tyler was a psycho, she'd know where to start looking. It was just… I felt like a child. And I wasn't one. I could take care of myself. And if I had a question, I'd ask.

Of course, because she'd teased me, that's all I fucking thought about the whole way there. What the fuck was _normal_ or _correct_ in terms of sex in a relationship? Was there a time that was considered, like, ok... now is the time we fuck? My only experience was limited to prostitution. There was a very simple protocol for fucking. They came in the room, there was a money exchange conversation—because you always fucking saw the money upfront at least—there was fucking, and payment, and everyone went about their business. How did that work in an actual relationship? Was that what we called this? Was that what we were doing already? Was I in a relationship? When was fucking expected? God, this was worse than being a whore. At least there were no questions there.

All of this was so fucking annoying. I'd already told Tyler up front that sex was not on the table at the moment. But what did that buy me? What amount of time was that good for? When could he cash in the _fuck now_ coupons? I mean, should I have talked about this further with him? Given him some sort of time for expecting that? What constituted sex even? I hadn't defined what sex was. Did that include kissing? Touching? Blowjobs? What did he consider sex? Fuck, what did I?

By the time I reached his fucking apartment, I was thoroughly annoyed and even more confused. Asking him seemed stupid, and asking Jordan would probably only mean more teasing or more serious conversations with her about the nature of dating or some shit. Which, maybe that wasn't even a bad thing. Maybe I needed that kind of talk. It's not like I'd ever had a parent who told me all of that shit. I didn't go to any school long enough to learn it from other kids. I think my experience was hugely different than most people. So, where did people like me go to get this fucking information, then? Was there some chart that I'd missed? Some pamphlet that I wasn't clued into?

Ugh. Maybe I'd just ask Tyler. That'd probably be least embarrassing as he'd be the one involved.

I knocked on the door, which was basically pointless because it wasn't like they'd gotten around to fixing the lock. Tyler opened the door all smiley and messy haired, and it was impossible not to smile back at him.

"Hi." He moved back to let me in.

"Hey."

"How're you?"

"I'm ok. You?"

"Good, good. I've got the movie all ready, and all I have to do is press _start_ on the microwave for the popcorn."

I chuckled, "Prepared, I guess, huh?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "Not like I've had it ready for two hours or anything. Or that I forced Aidan to get the fuck out of the apartment."

"No, right. Not at all."

He made a motion toward the couch. "Sit, get comfy. I'll start the popcorn."

I sat and watched him move around the kitchen. "You didn't have to make Aidan leave. It wouldn't bother me."

He made a rather disgusted noise. "Aidan wears out his welcome really quickly." He glanced at me. "Plus, I wanted you all to myself. He's an attention hog." He shrugged.

Hmm. So… how did normal people read that? He wanted me all to himself because there was an ax hidden under the couch cushions? He wanted me all to himself because he was totally gonna make a pass and I'd have to fight him off? He wanted me all to himself because he was just sweet and didn't want Aidan to spend time with me, with us? I chewed on my lip while I thought about that as the popcorn started popping in the microwave.

Tyler was suddenly just _there_, too. "Shit… before I forget…"

I totally froze. Was this the pass already? He started pacing in front of me, talking quickly.

"It occurred to me, that should there have been some disaster today—like forty people called in sick at the Strand and I would have been called into work, or I fell in the shower and Aidan let me drown, or there was some emergency class meeting that I actually attended—that I had no way to contact you. So… I was wondering if you had a phone number at the apartment, or a cell or… something? In case I needed to call you for something. For emergencies… or in case you forget your jacket and I got lost on the way to your apartment to return it…"

This was what I was talking about. Just when I was panicking and I thought he was going to do something, or I just didn't even know what the fuck he was doing—which was normally the case—he did this kind of shit. I smiled, furrowing my brows. "Did you just ask me for my number in a really… weird way?"

He nodded, but at least he'd stopped pacing. "Yes. I don't do things in a normal order. You might have noticed. I skip the whole number thing and barrel into arrest and fucking up before I really take you out on a proper date."

"I see."

"What does 'I see' mean? I don't like 'I see.' That seems very noncommittal. Does that mean I'm not getting your number?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Would it help if I gave you my number? Do you want my number?" So eager.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I'm waiting to decide until after we watch the 'classic' horror movie. Ya know, just in case you're really a serial killer or something."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't look good in a dress."

"What?" The fuck?

"The movie… nevermind. You'll understand after. I don't want to ruin it." He waved his hand and walked back to the kitchen.

"I'm… not sure this is my kinda movie anymore," I teased.

"Oh, shut up. You don't even know what it's about," he called back to me.

"'Horror classic' seems to scream cross-dresser to you, Tyler. I may be a stripper, but I don't get down with that."

He laughed. "Right." I watched him move around the kitchen and put the popcorn in a bowl. "You want something to drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Beer," he said. "And a few kinds of Coke."

I was sort of half paying attention, just watching him, and it took me a minute to realize what he'd said. I could see the hint of his smirk from the side.

"Coke, huh?"

"Yeah. I think there's Grape Coke and Orange Coke, and Root Beer Coke, and Dr. Pepper Coke, and even some Diet Coke." He glanced at me, his face full of amusement.

"Diet Coke," I said.

"Diet Coke," he repeated, shaking his head and handing me the can. "I knew you were gonna say that. Where is your sense of adventure? You could go Grape Coke, or Orange Coke, or –"

"Shut up, Tyler. Before I dump my Diet Coke all over you."

"See, now you're getting into the spirit of the movie. Only, you need more violence, more malice behind it. This will never do."

He grabbed his own drink and then plopped down on the couch next to me and set the popcorn on the table.

"You ready?"

I nodded. "I think so."

He pressed play and propped his feet on the table and relaxed back into the couch, moving the bowl of popcorn between us.

So… this movie. It starts in black and white, right? And I'm not sure exactly what kind of movies he thought that I watched, but black and white wasn't normally included. And I found it hard to watch the movie when he was sitting, like, a foot away, munching on popcorn and sipping Diet Coke. It was incredibly distracting that all that separated us was the fucking bowl. And I was really trying to pay attention, because I figured he was going to expect me to talk about it after, and it was really unfair when he was all distracting and shit.

This chick needed forty grand to marry her dude, and I'm not sure what the fuck kinda wedding she was planning, but I doubt it would have taken that much money—this movie was old. She steals the dough, gets all shifty with the cops, and winds up at this creepy-ass motel run by this creepy-ass dude, Norman Bates. I could relate to the chick because I've stayed in creepy-ass places that had creep-ass dudes that run them. The place itself didn't actually look that bad, and 'cause this chick is stupid, she agrees to have dinner with creepy Norman. Bad idea. I've made that mistake. Norman's a mama's boy and mama doesn't approve of Norman getting it on with anyone. Norman wants to put mama away, but he's too much of a pussy to do it.

Creepy-ass gets creepier when he's a total fucking Peeping Tom watching the chick undress—and I really hope those holes didn't exist in the motels I'd stayed in, but I think they probably did. She decides to return the money or something and then Norman's mama stabs her in the shower. Ok. He had dinner with her and now she's toast? Harsh. Norman finds her body and covers it up for mama. Chick's dude comes looking for her and mama kills some PI dude, too. Chick's dude goes to the cops and the cops are all confused 'cause Norman's mama died ten years ago. Uh oh. Dude and chick's sister pretend to be married and they look around at the motel. Dude distracts Norman so chick's sister can go look at the house, and mama is there all gross and dead and mummy-like. For ten years. Ew. Norman busts in wearing his mama's clothes and a wig and nearly kills sis. Ok. Shit just got crazier. 'Cause, again… ew. And holy fucking cross-dressing freak killer! Tyler's comment made so much more sense now.

Norman gets busted, and some doctor says that mama is alive in Norman, 'cause he's a psycho. No shit, ya think? If that's all it took to be a head shrinker, I could fucking do that job. I had enough experience with psychos. Anyway, after his dad died, it was just Norman and mama, and when she found someone else, he murdered them both. 'Cause he's a fucking psycho, he tried to bring mama back to life in his mind. Norman's been killing chicks for quite some time, and again, psycho-ness helped him not realize he was killing people all the fucking time. Or something.

At the end, mama's taken over his mind and shit, and she says some bullshit about proving that she's harmless by not killing a fly or something. Then they pull the chick's car out of a swamp and it's over.

What kind of fucking movie was this? What was that? What just happened? What the fuck? She can't hurt a fly and that matters… why? She was fucking dead! What?

I sat for a second while the credits rolled and then looked over at Tyler.

"So?"

I shook my head. "That was one creep-ass motherfucker."

He laughed, "Yeah, hence the title."

"I mean… I've been in some motels like that one, with really creepy dudes, but… Jesus, now I'm wondering how many of them had their dead mothers in the back somewhere. Would have explained a lot of the smells."

He spit Coke out laughing, and I found that really cute for some reason. I smiled at him as he wiped the soda off his shirt. "Did you think it was scary?"

"Pffft, no. Just another crazy dude."

He smirked, but I knew he was fishing. "You been around a lot of crazy dudes?"

I raised a brow at him. "Besides you?"

"Yeah, besides me."

"A few." I nodded, looking down at my hands.

He didn't press, and I was extremely grateful for that. He switched topics. "What'd you think of the shower scene?"

I scrunched up my face. "It wasn't what I was expecting. I mean, I guess I expected something more graphic."

"Right. Like I said with the power of suggestion."

"Yeah, I guess. It was actually not as violent as I figured. The music was good, though. I can see why it's used a lot."

"Yeah, it's one of the most famous scenes ever from a movie. It was pretty hardcore for that time. A lot of the movie was."

"Makes sense." I nodded.

"The blood was chocolate syrup."

"Get the fuck out!"

"Nope, chocolate syrup. Because it was black and white, it showed up better or something."

"That's funny."

"They made sequels, too, you know."

"With the same dude?"

"Yeah."

"What the fuck? They let him out?"

"He's crazy, so they put him in the nuthouse instead of jail. And yeah, they let him out."

"And he starts killing people again?"

"You want me to tell you?"

"Sure."

"No. It's actually his mother."

"But… his mother is dead."

"Nope. His aunt is dead. They spun some story that some other lady was his mother, but was in the nuthouse when he was born, so her sister raised him. But his 'real' mother kills everyone in the second movie until he kills her at the end."

"That's fucking crazy."

"Yeah. Only the first one did really well."

"I can see why."

His head was resting on the back of the couch and he turned to look at me. "What time do you have to work tonight?"

"Seven."

"Hmm… I should probably order something now, then. Are you hungry?"

I laughed. "After all that popcorn?"

He shrugged. "It'll be, like, at least a half hour. More if we order from someplace slow or stupid."

"You order from stupid places?"

"Sometimes. If they have good food."

"Yeah, I guess. Where are you gonna order from?"

"What do you feel like?"

What did I feel like? Food. I never understood that question. I didn't care what we ate. And over the years, hearing that question kinda bugged me. I guess because, for most of my life, what I felt like and what I wanted didn't matter. I ate what was there or available. And the more filling a food was, the better, because I didn't always know where the next meal was coming from. I wouldn't tell him any of that, of course. I shrugged. "What do you?"

"I don't care." He shrugged back.

Hmm. Well, it couldn't work for both of us to be indifferent. "It doesn't matter, Tyler." I settled on, smiling.

He watched me for a minute. Long enough that I was getting uncomfortable with it, like I wasn't acting like a normal person or something. I used to get that everywhere—get the feeling that everyone looked at me with either pity or disgust, and I didn't want pity, or deserve their disgust. Tyler wasn't looking at me like that, but just the awkwardness bugged me, too. I had no real idea why I was getting annoyed. He wasn't doing anything.

I think it was because time with him always seemed too good to be true. Things just never went this smoothly for me. Something always came along and fucked it up. And I probably fucked up enough of them like this, too, by putting up the walls on something that could have been good. I hadn't been ready for Doug and Lois, and it wouldn't have worked, because they wanted something that I couldn't give them. I wasn't ready for their help, and things could have been good if I would have let them.

So, I realized I had to make a choice here. Because he was here—he was still trying, and he was still looking for ways in. He was looking for ways to connect. It was just that I didn't even know how to connect with myself, so helping him in was not so easy.

Fuck, I wasn't sure who I was. How could I know? When he asked me questions, I couldn't answer them because I'd never really had time to find the answers myself. Maybe a little more honesty would go a long way. Hell, what could it hurt at this point?

I took a deep breath. "Ok, so… this is the deal: I don't care what we eat, because I haven't always known where the next meal was coming from. So, when you ask me what I feel like, when I say it doesn't matter, that's why."

He blinked for a second and then ran a hand over his head, scratching in the back. "How about Mexican?"

"Mexican is good."

"It'll probably be faster, then. There's a Mexican place right around the corner that delivers. The food's not that great, but their delivery is fast. I think we have a menu around here somewhere."

Well. That went better than I thought. Maybe the honesty shit was decent.

"Their burritos are pretty good," he suggested, handing me the menu and grabbing the phone.

I smiled as I looked at the menu. "I like burritos."

"What kind? They have beef, chicken, chicken chipotle, pork, and catfish. I would skip the catfish."

I smirked. "Chicken chipotle."

His eyebrows went up.

"I like spice. Did you forget I lived in New Orleans?"

"Right." He nodded. "That's what you want, then?"

"Yes," I said, handing it back to him. "Thank you."

He nodded once and took the menu back to the kitchen before calling and placing our order. I didn't miss the part where he ordered mine as a grande instead of a regular. Apparently, honesty made him sweeter, if that was possible. When he came back, he sat down again, and I could tell he was thinking.

He cleared his throat. "When did you move to New Orleans?"

"When I was fifteen."

He nodded. "You move with your parents?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

He nodded again and left it at that. I liked that he only asked for little bits at a time. He didn't expect me to spill everything all at once. He was quiet again for a minute. "I don't want this to sound insulting, ok?"

I looked at him. "Ok."

"So, the food thing—is that a current issue, or a past one? Because if it's a current one…" he trailed off.

I smiled. Jesusfuck. I smiled because I was getting used to being surprised by him, and it was less messy than suddenly bursting into tears. It still took me a minute to answer him. "It was a past one," I said quietly. "But thank you," I added, looking down.

"'K." He paused again. "If it's ever a current one again… let me know, ok?"

I watched his face and there was no pity or disgust. He was just looking at me like he normally did. Like it was just a normal part of conversation to talk about that. I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

"Promise?"

I sighed. "Yeah," I said quietly, clearing my throat then.

He blew out a breath. "I'm gonna get a beer. You want one? Or something else? Another Diet Coke?"

"Yeah, another Diet Coke would be good."

I thought it might be awkward when he got back, so I was thankful for even the short break. It hadn't been tense or anything, but when he was nice, I just felt… uneasy sometimes. Like the fact he was nice was so uncommon that I just expected something else, and that was probably really fucked up. It was fucked up that an asshole put me more at ease than Tyler did. Or it wasn't ease—it was just normal. And I knew that was fucked up and wrong, but it wasn't something I could control. I just had to work on being comfortable with nice. Fuck, that was pathetic.

He came back and handed me the can and picked up conversation like we hadn't just had that entire talk, and nothing was weird.

"So, I have an… activity for us for our next date."

"Wow, pretty sure of yourself, huh?"

He smirked. "Well, after _Psycho_, I mean, you can't possibly get rid of me. I'm not a murderer, and what other guy would call that a date? You're so captivated by my weirdness you just want to stick around to see what I do next."

If he only knew how much that was true.

I spent so much time thinking about it that he was starting to fish for my response. "Right?" he nudged me.

"Sorry, yeah, totally." And just like that, I erased the lightness, the teasing.

He was looking at me again, the concerned look. "Everything ok?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I just spaced out there for a second." I paused, thinking of how to fix this and not make him question if I was serious about it. "You lost me somewhere around captivated," I said. "What were you saying?"

He twisted his mouth into a grin and brought the beer to it again. _That_ should have been illegal. "You know, I don't have to take this abuse. There are tons of girls who are just waiting to take advantage of my weirdness. And you're totally gonna be pissed you didn't take part in my activity."

"Tons of girls?" I looked around the room. "In this city?" I paused and then started again before he could answer. "You may not be a murderer, but the delusions… those might need to be looked at. Have you looked for help? For a doctor for that? They have special ones just for those kinds of problems."

He took another pull from the beer and shook his finger at me. "Do you not recall that my father has a lawyer? I could sue you for slander or something."

"Slander? What the fuck does that mean?"

"Like saying bad shit about me that's not true."

"You can sue someone for that? Fuck, why haven't I done that my whole life?"

"You can sue someone for a lot less than that," he said.

"But what if it is true?" I asked, smirking.

"Well, you'd have to prove it. And until then, I'm suing. I'm gonna call him right now." He pointed toward the phone. "And I'm sure he's going to rush to my defense," he said flatly.

"You don't get along with your father?"

He shook his head. "Nope," he said, letting the 'p' pop.

"Why?"

"It's a long story."

I had a lot of those. "What does he do?"

He tipped his head to the side. "Uhm… he deals in futures. And options. Equities. Foreign exchange. Fixed income and financials. Energies. Metals…" He took a breath. "Agricultural and softs, and security futures products. Also, trade execution, which I think is the best word for what he does—execution, global clearing, and eBrokerage."

Say _what_?

"Oh," I settled on. I let a beat pass. "What does that mean?"

"Fuck if I know."

I laughed. "Ok."

"Mostly I think it means he gets to be a dick all day long, and then all night, too. He yells a lot on the phone and in boardrooms, and makes a lot of money for evil people and himself."

All right, then. "Ah," I said, nodding.

"Yeah. Always has a deal going on. And it's never convenient. He puts work before everything else."

The food arrived before I could ask him anything else, and really, unless I was willing to start sharing, asking him more wouldn't have been fair.

The food was good, and they really meant large when they said grande—they weren't lying. I teased him some more about this "activity" he was planning, but he wouldn't give up what it was. He assured me he didn't mean anything sexual, and I hadn't thought he had, but it was cute he told me anyway.

He had stuff to do with his sister tomorrow, but he was free for the weekend and he insisted that the activity required him to be at my apartment at 12:30. Needless to say, I was curious. And for once, I wasn't really worried about it—I was actually kinda excited. It was probably a first. And he seemed really happy that I was excited.

When he offered to walk me home, or walk me to the subway, I could also say I really didn't want to leave. With a guy, that was probably another first. So, right before I left, I crossed off another first and I gave him my phone number.

And I walked home smiling the whole way, because despite the fact I had to go to work, I had something to look forward to.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

Blog: http:/htf-wtrm(dot)blogspot(dot)com/


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Playlist for Chapter Six: http(colon)/pl(dot)st/p/22613877771

* * *

**TPOV**

I thought this dating thing was going pretty well. In all honesty, and especially in the last few years or six, I hadn't dated. I wasn't exactly a dating expert before then, either. But after Michael died, I didn't really want a relationship with anyone. I suppose psychology would claim that I had a fear of losing someone again or some bullshit, but the truth was, I just never found anyone that I really gave a shit to try with. And relationships were complicated enough with family, much less another person who didn't have to put up with you because you weren't connected by blood. It all just seemed so convoluted and completely artificial. Half the people I knew were either together by default, or together and miserable—and I didn't want either. I could be miserable on my own, thanks.

It seemed Allison had less experience than I did. But it was fun in a way, too, because everything was new to her. Something really simple became something else entirely. And I was enjoying the series of firsts that we had going here. Watching her face while we watched the movie was really hilarious because she was so expressive, and I don't think she realized she was necessarily. Her confusion and incredulous look at the end was epic. I wasn't actually sure she liked the movie or not, or if it was completely annoying and disturbing because of the way it ended, and I really never got to ask. I'd wager, though, that it wasn't exactly her kind of movie, so I'd scratch other classic horror off the list until I got more of a confirmation on that.

The conversation had taken this strange turn after the movie when I asked her what I thought was a really easy question about dinner. She was the most noncommittal and evasive person I'd ever met. Everything she said was either reserved, or completely unrevealing. And I couldn't figure out why. There were things I could guess, but in reality, everything was a guess with her. And I really knew very little about her, which was just an odd way to date, too. It wasn't like I wanted to spill my life either, but usually basic information was exchanged. I just didn't know how to get her to open up—she'd only let little bits out at a time, and I think a lot of it was things she let slip.

The thing about dinner, though, that was deliberate—I could see her thinking about it and then decide to tell me. So, this piece of information was about her not always knowing where the next meal was coming from, so that was why she wasn't particular about where or what we ate. Now, I knew she wasn't telling me this because she was going for some kind of shock value. She wasn't trying to make me feel sorry for her, either. She was trying to explain—which I greatly appreciated. And on some level, I think she was telling me that we came from completely different places, and that the more she told me, the more that was probably going to become evident. I didn't have experience with poverty that much was true; I never had to worry about food being on the table. I hoped she knew that didn't make a difference to me either.

So, I filed the piece of information, got out a little bit more, and then moved on because I knew that not doing so would push her away. And in return, when she asked, I told her a little bit about my father, even though that was not a topic I enjoyed. But she'd given me something, so I gave her something back. I didn't really disclose anything about my relationship with my father, so in a way, depending on the topic, we both did the same thing. Maybe with this next date, trying to lay things out and seeing how she'd take it would work. Maybe it'd blow up in my face, too, but that was something I'd have to risk. She could always tell me no.

The fact that she'd given me her phone number before she'd left our last date was encouraging. She'd been wary and evasive when I'd asked at the beginning, but by the end I must have done something that earned her trust enough for her to give it to me. I was sure that wasn't a number that she gave out freely, and I was one of only a few that had it. I resisted the urge to call her the minute she left to just say hi, or just to tell her that I had her phone number, because she might have revoked my privileges or something.

I'd been making this mental list of things I knew about her. If I was interested in something, I was a decent listener, and she'd probably be shocked to realize that I remembered most of what she told me, even if it was clouded in subtext.

The first night I met her, I knew she'd been a smoker but quit, had my first experience with her Diet Coke ordering, found she was extremely wary and untrusting, had lived in Florida, New Orleans, Texas, and Vegas before New York, and jail was not something that was a new and exciting experience. She'd been handy with home first aid, she didn't get off with me and seemed to be confused by the entire concept, and told me that her dreams weren't normally sweet. From that alone I could deduce that she'd had quite the colorful background, and had seen a lot more than I would ever dream of in her very short years. She knew how to take care of herself and other people, and she was careful and protected. She didn't play video games a lot as a kid, but had enough experience in some short period that she could kick my ass, and lo and behold, she was a stripper. Date one in a nutshell.

So, I could put the stripper and the bad men experiences together, but that didn't solve or answer everything. My monumental fuck-up revealed that she had no problem fucking me in an alley, so modesty and embarrassment, or others seeing us, were not issues. She also told me that she had nothing to go back to, which I figured had to mean family. She was adamant about not discussing her childhood, so perhaps there was something with the not going back, and the fucked up men experiences, but putting too much stock in that could be dangerous. And I didn't want to start suggesting things to myself that would wind up being false, because then I'd probably think myself into worse places than necessary.

She had no favorite color, no favorite food, and no favorite anything it seemed. So, fucked up childhood was in there somewhere. Even after hanging with me for a while, she was still reluctant to give me her phone number, and apparently motels and the creepy dudes who ran them were normal. Fucking Norman Bates was normal. As in, she wasn't at all shocked by his behavior, or horrified by his acts—she was either used to them from environment, or really great at letting disturbing things float by without analysis. Or both.

She teased, but reading between the lines meant that she'd been around some really fucked up people, and most of them were guys. She wouldn't have teased about it if there wasn't some semblance of truth there. The fact that she'd had times when she didn't know where food was coming from, and the correlating fact that she hadn't moved to New Orleans with her parents, suggested several possibilities—none of which I really wanted to entertain at the moment.

So… barreling at her with theories or questions with too much detail would send her reeling, and probably result in my death by ice skate. So, my plan for this date, then, was two-fold: teach her to ice skate, and start small with suggesting a mission to find her favorites. That would be safe, without too much divulging on her part. I have no idea why I thought the two went well together, but I figured if I was helping her skate and shit, maybe she'd be a little more open. Plus, it'd give us something else to do—something constructive. Something that would maybe give her… I don't know. It just seemed like a good idea.

There weren't a lot of ice rinks open past March and into April, so Sky Rink was the plan for the afternoon. Saturdays could be busy, so I hoped that the crowd that might be there wouldn't scare her off.

I knocked on her door a little early, even though I'd told her 12:30. She was ready regardless, and didn't seem surprised that I was early.

"Hi," I said as she moved out of the doorway to let me in.

"Hey. How're you?"

"I'm good. You?"

"I'd be better if I knew what we were doing."

I smiled. "Do you have a hat?"

"A hat?"

"Yeah, and mittens."

I got an eyebrow raise. Just one.

I raised both of mine in answer. "Yes? No? I have extra if you don't."

"No, I have some. This is New York, right?"

"Yes. Those will be required for our activity."

"Christ," she said, her shoulders slouching as she left to get them. She came back clutching the hat in one hand and mittens in the other.

I smiled. "You also might want to put on a sweatshirt."

"What are we doing, Tyler?"

There may have been a little bit of annoyance building.

"You don't like surprises?"

"No, not really."

Ok, then. I shrugged. "I thought we could go ice skating. There are only a few places still open this late, so if we don't do it soon, we'd have to wait until winter again." I couldn't read her expression. "We can do something else if you want. I just thought it might be fun."

She was quiet for a minute; I wasn't sure what for. Debating or deciding, or trying to come up with some way out—could have been any of those.

"You wanna do something else?" I offered.

She sighed, "No. I'm just trying to figure out what Jordan will do with my stuff if I die."

"I think that's a little overdramatic. I will not let you die on the ice."

"Yeah, well. I guess we'll see. Ugh, this is bad idea, Tyler."

I smirked. "They have helmets. We can get you some knee and elbow pads on the way."

She scoffed, "Fuck off, Tyler."

"Might want me there on the ice."

She flipped me off.

"So, you wanna do this, or you wanna suggest something else?"

She let out a frustrated noise and stomped off to her bedroom again. "I really don't fucking like you right now," she called before she rounded the corner.

"You're not even the slightest bit excited? I was excited. You're ruining my excitement."

She didn't answer me and I sighed while I waited for her to change. I hadn't really known how she'd react to the suggestion. I mean, I had a whole plan, but I didn't actually think too much about whether or not she'd enjoy the skating. Not that it was the same, but Caroline was always excited when we went skating—she'd been ecstatic when I showed her how to skate.

She came back out with a sweatshirt on and her hat and mittens stuffed in the pocket. She grabbed her jacket and looked at me, so that must have been my cue to go. I stopped at the door and turned, and she almost ran into me. "We don't have to skate, Allison. We can do something else."

"No, we can skate. I just wasn't expecting it."

"I should have told you." I nodded to myself. "I had thought about calling, but I didn't know if you really wanted me to."

I moved into the hall so she could lock the door. She wasn't facing me, so I couldn't see her.

"I gave you my number, didn't I?"

"Yeah," I said cautiously, "but I said that was for emergencies. I mean, I was just using any excuse to get it, but…" I stopped when she turned to smirk at me. "I didn't know if you really meant for me to have it for that, or ya know, to _have_ it."

She laughed at me. "You think way too fucking much."

I nodded, sighing, "Yeah. Probably."

We started down the stairs. "I gave it to you," she said simply, shooting me a look.

I smiled. Yes, well. She did, yes. "Ok," I said back. "Next time, I'll call."

When we hit the street, she looked at me again. "Are we walking?"

"No, we'll take the subway."

It was funny—she wasn't a person I thought would be comfortable in crowds—but the subway didn't bother her at all. She seemed completely at ease there, like just another everyday rider. Maybe that was part of it—no one really talked to you on the subway. Everyone just minded their own business and ignored you, like you were invisible because they were, too. It made me feel a little better about the rink, if there were a lot of people there. Maybe it'd be the same kind of thing—she'd be focused on what we were doing and realize that no one else really cared about how you were skating or what you were doing. She wasn't that type or person—it wasn't that I thought she gave a shit about what people thought, it was just the number of people, or that she was wary of so many things. There'd be a lot of kids there, though, families. So, time would tell.

We'd never been on the subway together, and it was stupid and simple, but I liked it.

She let me lead the way once we got to the Pier, and she took everything in. She watched everything. The place itself was pretty imposing. It was cool, the exterior, and if you'd never been there before, I think it would have seemed pretty impressive. The general skating rink wasn't quite as impressive, but again, if you'd never been before… her eyes roved over everything, so I think she was at least engaged. We went through the booth for admission and rental, got the skates and everything, and when I gestured for us to sit, she pulled my sleeve.

"Fucking hell, ice skating is expensive!"

I shrugged, "There are places that are a lot cheaper, but most of them are closed now. And if you skate outside, some of those are even free for admission. Inside's better for your first lesson, anyway."

"Yeah, but Jesus—for only, like, three fucking hours? That's insane!"

"Well, if you could have passed for youth, it would have been almost three bucks cheaper," I offered. "And you turned down the helmet, so that was cheaper."

She gave me a dirty look.

I decided to ignore it. "So, you just lace them up like shoes until you get to the top, then you cross them and hook them around the hooks there." I pointed on the skates. "I lace mine pretty tight, but you still want to be able to move."

I was finished with both of mine by the time she was done with one and I smiled while watching her. "Can I?"

She shrugged and I untied the one she'd finished, tightening the laces from the bottom and re-hooking the top. "Double knot," I said absentmindedly before starting on her other skate. When I finished and looked up at her, she was smirking. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." She giggled, "You just tied my skates."

I chuckled, "Yeah, well. You're a beginner." I held out my hand. "Stand up."

The amusement left at that. She sighed and looked at my hand for a second before looking down at the skates. "This is impossible. There is no fucking way, Tyler."

"You'll be fine. Walking in the skates is harder than skating."

"Oh, bullshit," she said under her breath while she took my hand and attempted to stand.

She was so fucking funny. Like, so careful. Like it was the hardest thing she'd ever accomplished—just standing up. We hadn't even set foot on the ice yet. I couldn't help the grin.

"If you don't wipe the fucking grin off, I'm going to push you down on the ice."

I laughed, "Well, as you're having trouble just standing there, I'm not too afraid."

And… she was standing.

"Do they feel wiggly?"

Her head jerked up. "Wiggly? The fuck?"

I sighed. "I mean, are your feet slipping, or do they feel tight enough. If they're not tight enough, you're gonna fall on your ass the minute you get out there."

"I'm gonna fall on my ass anyway, so what's the difference?"

I scoffed, "I won't let you fall."

She looked up at me but didn't say anything. "Let's just… go." She made a vague gesture and I backed up a few steps waiting for her to follow. She did—gingerly.

"At this rate, the ice will melt by the time we get there," I teased.

"Fuck off."

"I'm the teacher," I reminded her.

She moved a little faster then, and it wasn't actually bad. It wasn't hard to figure out how to walk in them. You just had to make sure you didn't tip over by the ankles. Her look when we got to the actual rink was completely indescribable. I really didn't know if it was fear or excitement or puzzlement, or she could have been devising ways to kill me with the blade of the skate.

She'd let go of my hand after we'd started walking and I stepped onto the ice, which didn't make her any happier, and I held out my hand. She looked at it like it was going to burn her.

"Tyler…"

"Yeah?"

"I really…"

"We don't have to skate," I reminded her.

For some reason, that changed the expression on her face. "You'd really just take the skates off and leave?"

"Yeah." I shrugged. "You wanna go?"

She grabbed my hand. "No."

I wasn't sure where the newfound determination came from, but she was amusingly focused after that. Some little kid blew past us just as she got both feet on the ice and she watched him as he flew around the rink. "Fucking showoff," she said under her breath.

I glanced around the rink while she moved over to the wall, realizing she could hang onto that for dear life. There were other people who were obviously just learning to skate, too, but she only looked at the ice, the wall, and me.

When I'd taken Caroline, it'd taken her almost the entire fucking time we'd been there to let go of the wall, or let go of me. And she was so awkward—more jogging across the ice than skating. She'd always been more artsy than athletic. Not that I was athletic, but I'd taken to skating a lot easier than she had. I'd only ever taught Caroline, and I realized this was going to be fundamentally different, because one, Caroline had been pretty little and I could hold her up from behind or lift her by her arms; and two, Caroline was my sister, and boundaries were so much different than they were here. Balance was key for skating, and making sure she could get the leverage she needed while keeping her upright without crossing any touching boundaries was gonna be interesting.

She hadn't seemed to have any problems holding onto my hands yet, so I'd keep it there for now.

"Ok," I started and her head jerked toward me while the rest of her stayed hanging tensely onto the wall. "Have you ever roller skated or rollerbladed?"

She made a noise. "No."

"Ok." I nodded. "They say that ice skating and rollerblading are similar, but I've never really thought so, so that's really pointless anyway, since you've never… Anyway, uhm, balance is a big thing, and keeping your feet moving in the same direction is helpful." I smiled. "Do you have any coordination problems I should know about?"

I got another look and took that as a no, but she answered anyway. "I can strip to music while dancing, right? So, I must have some fucking coordination."

I couldn't help it, I laughed. She was trying to make me mad and failed miserably. "Well, you can work a pole, too, so you're probably capable. If you could do all of that on skates, then I'd be impressed."

She didn't have anything to say to that and I was so pleased with myself. Deflect and spin. Heh. So, I just kept going then. "There's really no way for me to explain this. You just kind of… do it." She shot me a look. "No, I mean, you push off with one foot and then the blade slides on the ice for you. You just have to stay balanced and try to keep your feet straight, and then keep moving your feet so you keep moving on the ice."

I paused and let her take that in—she was paying attention to me, just not applying that yet.

"You'll have to move away from the wall to try, though," I added gently.

She sighed and stuck her hand out, so I took it and pulled her gently. Fun thing about skates, if you could stay up, someone else could move you. Her entire face completely lit up, a smile breaking out, and we'd only moved about three feet.

"Hey!" she said all proud.

I didn't have the heart to tell her she wasn't really skating yet. The novelty might wear off too soon. "So… do you want me to, like, stay behind you, or on the side here, or… let go, or… what, exactly?"

She shrugged, her eyebrows rising. She couldn't look nearly as imposing that way with the winter hat on. "You're the teacher."

"Well, I should admit that I only taught Caroline, and she was much… tinier. I could still hold her in front of me. I don't think that'd work with you. And I may be the teacher, but I can't skate backwards. I never acquired that skill."

She gasped. "I want a new teacher. You didn't tell me you weren't qualified. Who the hell taught you how to skate?"

"My father."

"Oh."

Yeah. Oh. I sighed and pulled her a little more. She hadn't actually moved herself yet, but she was staying up and her balance was good. "He wasn't always a dick. There were times during my childhood where he seemed like an actual father. He did shit with us. My mom videotaped the whole thing."

"Well, that's good, then, right? That he wasn't always a dick?"

I nodded. "Yes and no. Sometimes, I think it would be easier if he'd been a dick all along. It would make it easier not to care." I'd actually just said that, hadn't I? That I cared. Hmm. That was probably the main problem—that I did care. That I couldn't just write him off completely. "Ok, you need to move your feet or you're just getting a really nice ride here."

Her lip went behind her teeth and she gingerly attempted to move one foot ahead. Which would have been great… if she hadn't left the other one behind. She wound up kind of scissored, doing the splits in midair, and if I wouldn't have had her hands, she would have been on the ice that way. She looked up at me all pissed off.

"These fucking cunt skates aren't working!"

"Well, you have to move your other foot, too. You can't just move one." I managed to say that whole bit without laughing. I was rather proud of myself.

She sighed angrily. "This is fucking hard!"

"You just started! You only moved once!" I pulled her back up so she was standing. At least she had that down—Caroline hadn't even been able to stand. "Just try it again. Try it like you're just walking on the ice, but don't pick up your feet. Like shuffling," I suggested.

She had a bit of a rocky start, and there was no stability despite her balance, but the wobbling across the ice was pretty great for someone who'd just gotten on it. And I loved the way her hand, all covered in the mitten, was gripping my hand, and would squeeze harder when she got all wobbly and unsteady. For all intents and purposes, she was holding my hand, and that was a huge victory. Small… but huge. I'd just ignore the whole scared-to-fall-on-her-face part. It still fucking counted.

We'd made it around the rink a few times, sticking close to the wall, and she was definitely less wobbly and getting the hang of it. "You're a natural," I said, smiling gently when we cleared another time around.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, totally. You're totally ice skating."

Her face was so bright and happy. "I totally fucking am, aren't I?"

I smiled and nodded.

Her brow pulled down. "Should I try it by myself?"

I love how she asked. Like it was part of the lesson or something, like she was asking me if she was ready. I kind of hated to let go, honestly. That meant I'd have no excuse to hold her hand. "Yeah, definitely."

That lip went behind her teeth again and I hoped she wouldn't fall with her mouth that way—that could be disaster waiting. I only let go when she released my hand and stuck close by in case. She was good with the straight parts of the rink. The turns tripped her up a little bit, but she was already getting better at those. She was concentrating so hard on the turn that she didn't see the little girl who was careening in front of her. She was obviously way worse at the learning curve than Allison.

I had two options: be a complete asshole and push the poor, defenseless blonde girl to the ice, or pull Allison out of the way. I picked the second one. Of course, it totally threw her off balance and she was falling herself the next minute.

It was too late to grab her and keep her up, so instead, I kept my word and dove for her. She landed on me backward, her back slamming into my chest, and she was tiny, but even tiny people falling a short distance really fucking hurt. I lay there a second and attempted to restart my lungs while she dug her elbow into my side and tried not to cut the shit out of my leg when we untangled our lower limbs.

"You fucking cocksucker! You totally made me fall!" she yelled.

"I broke your fucking fall!" I yelled back, laughing. "You were gonna take out that little blonde girl. You can't say I made you fall if you fucking fell _on__me_!"

She laughed and shoved her mittened hand to cover my face. "Shut the fuck up." And then promptly fell back on top of me, digging that damn elbow in again.

It was wrong to like that, right?

She was solid and warm, and smiling despite the anger, and her face was slightly flushed but her hair was kind of sticking out around the hat, and only her eyes to her chin was visible with the hat on, and fucking hell, could we really not have sex? Lying there, all on top of me, I was trying really hard to behave, but having her that close and all relaxed and happy, and not moving off of me, either, made that really difficult.

There was a very distinct noise of disgust from above us, ruining my moment. I craned by head up to look, and a totally bitchy lady—you could just tell—was frowning down at us.

"Could you _please_ attempt to control your language? There are children here! And now you're rolling around on the ice! This is a family place! I could have you removed from the facility!"

I tried not to laugh, failing miserably, and covered it covertly with a cough.

Allison was less covert. "You're just jealous because we're actually having fun and your fucking whiny brat is bleeding you dry with the lessons and all that other shit while your husband is being sucked off by his secretary. Get a life, bitch, and stay out of ours."

Allison rolled off of me and my hatred for the woman leapt by about a thousand percent, because we'd been all cuddly and close and pressed together, and her ass was pressing into my jeans, and yet, I found myself laughing and I couldn't fucking stop. And the grin was never leaving my face again when she extended her hand and I grabbed it without any hesitation and we skated away from the bitch.

I was fucked after that for a while. Because she'd skate ahead of me, all happy and proud and smug, and it just reminded me some more of her perfect ass grinding against me, and I finally had to divert my line of vision—and my thoughts—before I had to make a trip to the locker room.

I'd never seen her this happy before. Telling the woman off had been some sort of liberating moment, but she was really fucking happy on the ice, too. She slowed at the turn and fell into pace with me. "I wanna do that." She pointed. "That shit's fucking cool."

I followed her pointing. "Oh, Jesus Christ—she's a fucking figure skater! She's doing like a goddamn triple axle or something! Just be happy you moved! Figure skating is not on the agenda for today! It was just learning!"

She shrugged. "What can I say, I don't half-ass shit."

"No, you certainly don't."

I think skating was a total success.

"So… I kinda have another activity," I said as we turned in the skates.

"Oh, God." She looked up at me. "I don't know if I can handle two of your activities in one day, Tyler."

I snickered. Interesting. She smacked my shoulder with the back of her hand. "That's not what I meant."

I put up my hands. "Hey, you said it."

"What is this other activity?"

I walked a few more steps and then turned to her. "It bugs me you don't have any favorites."

"What?"

"You don't have any favorites."

Her eyebrows pulled down. "I have favorites."

"Ok. Tell me one."

She thought a minute. "Well, I can't think of any right now. But… I… have them."

That was convincing. "Color?"

"Well, not that one."

"Food?"

She shot me a look. "Cheap shot."

"Movie?"

"Sure as shit ain't _Psycho_."

"Touché. Music?"

"I like a lot of music."

"I love music. But we can talk about that later." I would not be distracted! "I've made it my mission to set out and find your favorites."

She folded her arms. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Because everyone should have favorites; know what they like."

"I know what I like, Tyler."

"I'm not trying to make it sound like you don't." I sighed. "Like… ok. Let's try this for an example." I gestured toward the lobby snack bar. "They have hot dogs."

"Yeah. So?"

"What do you like on your hot dog? If I were going to buy you a hot dog, what would you want on it?"

She shook her head. "Whatever. I'm not picky."

"I want you to be picky."

"But I don't care."

I chuckled. "I want you to care. I want to know if you really like ketchup and mustard, or if you want relish on it. I want to know if you really think relish tastes like shit on a hot dog but eat it anyway."

She studied me for a while before looking over at the snack bar and then back to me. "What does it matter?"

Jesus fucking Christ. "Because I want to know those things. I want to know that you don't really like the relish, or you only like mustard on a cheeseburger but not on a hot dog."

More studying.

"Ok, let's try this another way. If I gave you a piece of information about me, like I don't like tomatoes, but I like ketchup, what would you do with that information?"

"Well, I wouldn't ever give you anything with tomatoes in it."

"Right."

"That's weird you don't like tomatoes but like ketchup."

I laughed, "Thanks."

"Do you like tomato soup? Spaghetti?"

"Yes."

"Pizza?"

"Of course."

"What if it had tomatoes on it?"

"I'd pick them off."

She laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"Huh."

Yeah. Huh. "Do you get what I mean, though?"

She smirked. "Not really. Why do I really give a shit if you like tomatoes or not?"

I ran my hand over my face. "It's just about getting to know someone." I sighed. "I dunno. Never mind."

Ok. That didn't work at all. And I was sorta disappointed about that. It had been such an awesome plan when I'd thought of it. I thought it might actually be fun for her in a way. Apparently not the case. I could tell she was thinking, but I didn't really know what the fuck else to say at the moment.

"You want a hot dog?"

She laughed, "Sure."

"What do you want on it?" I put up a hand. "If you tell me that you don't care, I may lose patience."

Her mouth had been open and she closed it abruptly. And then there was more studying. "I don't know," she said.

I resisted the urge to throw a fist in the air. I let out a breath. "Ok. Get a table."

I think I may have sort of danced my way over to the counter. It felt like a small, very difficultly extracted victory. "I need two hot dogs and then all the condiments you have on the side. And two Diet Cokes."

The boy behind the counter was twelve if he was lucky. "You want… what on the side?"

"The con—the fucking ketchup and shit. Whatever you have back there—ketchup, mustard, relish—the works."

"Oh. Ok." And off he went to forage for our condiments. Fucking hell, the status of our youth was really a sad affair. I paid without saying anything else to him, for his sake, not mine.

I set the plain hot dog down and then lined up all the condiments and sat across from her.

"Now, don't eat it like normal," I started and then stopped. "I mean, don't eat it like you don't care what it tastes like. Just see if you actually like the taste of the shit on it."

She was looking at me like I was completely insane. But she did it anyway. And I said nothing while she tried each of them.

"So?" I asked when she'd finished.

She folded her hands on the table and pointed to the relish. "That's gross."

I chuckled.

"Ketchup is good. I think I only like mustard on cheeseburgers, and not just because you said that. I put too many onions on and it turned into an onion hot dog, but otherwise those are ok. The chili cheese was only good when I didn't have the other shit on it." She paused and looked away for a second but then looked back at me. "And I get it now."

Score! "Yeah?"

She nodded. "I think so." She shrugged. "I told you I didn't know how to do this."

I waved her off. "You're doing fine."

"Thanks." She smiled just a tiny bit, looking down at the table. Then her eyes flicked up to mine. "Skating was fun."

I smiled back. "Yeah, it was. I'm glad you liked it. You're a total natural."

"I did totally kick ass learning, didn't I?"

"You did."

She nodded back, proud of herself.

"So, what other favorite can we knock out today?" I asked.

She shrugged, letting out a breath. "Aw, man, I dunno."

"I think I've determined your favorite soda is Diet Coke."

"Yeah, I don't drink much else. That was one I found and stuck with."

"Do you have a favorite vegetable?"

"Do you have a food obsession?"

"No, those are just easier."

"I don't think I have a favorite vegetable, no."

"Do you want one?"

"Does it require me to eat more?"

"It might."

"Then, no. I don't want one right now."

"Fair enough." I paused. "Favorite cereal?"

"Dude. Lay off the goddamn food."

I grinned and thought a minute. "Favorite sexual position?"

She flicked a ketchup packet at me. Hey, had to try.

"Favorite time of day?"

"I usually work nights, but I like nights better."

"I'm not a morning person either. Is your favorite videogame Mario?"

"I guess, of the ones I've played, yeah."

"Who's your favorite character in Mario?"

She snorted. "Jesus, I dunno. I guess Mario."

"I've never understood why he puts up with the Princess."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she's always kidnapped by some huge fucking turtle. Wouldn't you think she'd have learned her lesson after the first one?"

She burst out laughing. "I guess I've never thought about it."

"Well, fuck, I mean, if I were Mario, and my woman was always being carted off to a turtle's castle, I'd start to think maybe something was up. Maybe she and the turtle were shacking up in the castles. Then he passed her off to all his kids—it's actually not very family-friendly if you think about it."

"You're insane."

"I am not. I haven't even gotten to the Luigi part."

"He's Mario's brother!"

"What, and they can't mess around? And if I was questioning all that shit, and she was constantly like, 'save me, Mario, save me!' I'd dump her. S'just too much fucking work. And the 'save me' line was just too much after the first few castles—she was fucking Bowser, I'm sure of it."

"That's a very interesting take on Mario."

I shrugged.

She laughed, "It's also probably totally true."

"See!"

She nodded. "Yeah. The castle jumping is suspicious."

I thought a second and then just kind of blurted, "If I tell you something about myself, would you tell me something back?"

She blinked at me, deciding. "Yeah. Ok."

"My parents are divorced and my mom's a social worker. I always thought that was hilarious given what my father does for a living. She married this guy Les a few years ago—he's a good guy. He treats her better than my father did, and he's good to Caroline.

"I hate peas if they're cooked and not in anything else. Like just plain, cooked peas, no. Fresh peas are awesome."

That was the most random information about myself that I'd ever given to anyone. It'd started out with promise and quickly gone downhill.

"What's your dad's name?"

"Mr. Hawkins," I emphasized the mister part, as that was what most people called him. "But Charles, really."

"And your mom?"

"Diane."

And now it was her turn.

She chewed her thumbnail for a while and I waited patiently. She put her hand back on the table and started picking at it instead. "My mom died when I was four. I don't really remember her, but I have a picture of her. I never knew my dad. I think I lived with family for a while, but wound up in the foster system.

"I stole my first cigarette from my aunt when I was ten and coughed for ten minutes. I didn't pick up smoking again until I was a teenager." She said the last part like it was a question—like random bits of information were supposed to follow real admissions, like my rambling had produced. I couldn't have cared less, because random or not, it was all great.

"I'm sorry about your mom."

She raised a brow at that—another thing she wasn't used to. "Thanks," she said slowly, unsure how to respond, I think. "It was a long time ago."

"Can I ask how she died?"

"Car accident. I was in the car, too, but I wasn't hurt."

"That's seriously heavy shit for a four-year-old."

She shrugged. "I don't remember it, so it was fine."

Foster system made sense—there were a lot of assholes in the foster system. Having a social worker for a mother, she told us horror stories on an almost daily basis. I'd always thought it was mostly her showing us how bad things were for other people, other kids, and how much we had and took for granted. Later, I realized it was therapeutic for her to get it out, to tell someone else. We always knew the days she said nothing were the ones that something too terrible to share had happened.

What kind of family members would have just turned her over to the foster system? She really had the worst luck when it came to shit like that it seemed.

I wanted to tell her that I understood how fucked up the foster system could be, but I didn't want that to sound as condescending and dismissive as it did in my head, so I filed it away for later. The last thing I wanted was to make her feel like I was reducing her experience to some second-hand knowledge of social services. I couldn't guess what had happened to her.

So instead, I asked something I wanted to know just because. "When's your birthday?"

"October."

"What day?"

"Eighteenth."

And… filed that away for future use, too.

"When's yours?"

"June sixteenth."

"Coming up soon, then," she said absently.

I basically ignored that—it wasn't something I was looking forward to. That was probably enough heavy for the moment. "You wanna go to a movie with me tomorrow?"

"I work two to ten tomorrow, so I probably can't."

She seemed at least mildly disappointed at that, and discouragement wasn't in my nature. "You work Monday?"

She smiled. "Yeah, but later. We could see an earlier one."

"What should we see?"

"I have no idea what's out."

HA! That was better than _whatever you want,_ or _I don't know,_ or _I don't care_. "Pick a genre."

"A what?"

"A type. Drama, action, comedy."

"Oh. Uhm… comedy."

I pretended to think a minute, but the truth was I already had several choices on hand. "How about a romantic comedy?"

I will admit another small victory here, too, because the wary look I usually got was more muted than normal.

She just made me wait, but her resolve was crumbling. I grinned and she slowly did the same. "Yeah, all right."

I kept the grin firmly in place. "I'm not sure why you take so long to decide. We both know you'll cave."

"And why is that?" she asked, the edge back in her voice.

I shrugged. "Because I'm charming, and you like my company. And I haven't given you a reason to say no since the night we do not speak of."

She snorted. "You sound pretty sure."

"Am I lying?"

Her mouth twisted for a second and she said quietly, "No."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

Blog: http:/htf-wtrm(dot)blogspot(dot)com/


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

**Playlist for Chapter Seven: http(colon)/www(dot)playlist(dot)com/playlist/22872658955  
**

* * *

**APOV**

Tyler was so fucking… I didn't have a word for him—I didn't know what it was called. He was excited about everything, and he wasn't happy all the time—because that'd be fucking annoying—but he always tried so hard, and worked really hard to make things good or new for me.

I dunno what you called that.

He was the first person in my life who ever really tried hard at anything with me. He just didn't give up, and he didn't get pissed off if things didn't work like he wanted—or what I thought he wanted.

He was cute and charming, and I did like his company—all those things he said that were half-teasing were true, too—but he was easy to be with, and he never expected more than I wanted to give. I'd never had friends or anything like Tyler where we'd just do random shit. A lot of friends weren't really friends at all, and we didn't do anything even a little bit normal like movies or skating. Why ice skate when you could smoke a bowl or do a line? Of course, those places weren't even the kind that had movie theaters or ice rinks.

My life had been much different then. Darker. And much more adrenaline-filled in a really fucked up, bad way. The lows in between were some of the worst moments of my life. Sometimes I had to double-check that I was really with Tyler and this wasn't all some way that life was fucking with me again. I mean, me? Really? Ice skating? Who would ever have seen that? Unfuckingbelievable.

We walked back to my apartment. I'd told him that I could walk back myself if it was easier for him to hop the train and get home, but he'd insisted on walking with me. And I didn't think he did it because he was showing off or trying to impress me. I think he did it because he wanted to. That's what he'd said anyway, and I was coming to believe that he meant what he said.

The subway totally wasn't faster, we still had to walk to the fucking stops, so it wasn't saving time, and that shit was fucking expensive. Skating had been expensive enough. I wondered sometimes if I should, or if Tyler wanted me to, pay for shit, but it was always like he assumed that he was. I wasn't sure that bothered me or not. In a strange way, it bothered me a lot less than other times when guys had paid for shit for me. Tyler paying had no conditions. There was no blowjob negotiated, or a threat under any of it. He didn't make it clear that paying meant he owned any piece of me.

We'd walked in mostly silence for a few blocks while I thought about the money thing and fought with myself over bringing it up. It spilled out eventually.

"Hey, I wanna take you to the movies, ok?"

He looked at me, hands in his jacket pockets like usual. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it'll be my treat this time."

He scoffed, making a face, "No."

"What do you mean, 'no?' I said I was treating."

He shrugged. "Tough."

"Then, I won't go," I announced all stubborn, too.

"Ok," he shrugged again, "then the ticket I'm going to buy will go to waste."

Well, shit. That hadn't fucking worked like I'd planned it at all. "Well, then, I'll get there before you and buy them."

"Really?" He nodded. "Where are we going?" He smirked. "What are we seeing?"

Fucker. This is why he shouldn't make all the plans. Why didn't I come up with plans? "Tyler," I started.

"I asked you, ok?" he cut me off. "I want to."

But that was the thing, wasn't it? He'd always asked me. I never asked him to do anything. Was that weird? I always said yes when he asked, unless I had something else going on. That showed I liked spending time with him, right? I said I did, I'd told him I did, but I never suggested anything because I usually had no clue what to do.

Well, I obviously had to ask him to do something.

We fell back into silence again and I got the feeling he thought he'd won.

"Ok," I started, "then, instead, I'll get the popcorn."

He chuckled, "No. Popcorn is part of the date. As is the drink and any candy you want. Or nachos. That's in the contract."

The fuck?

"What contract?"

"The dating contract. You're not familiar because you don't date a lot," he said with a smile.

I looked at him for a second. "You are so full of shit."

He shrugged.

"So, you're saying that if I plan a date, then I can pay?"

"Nope," he shook his head again, "you failed to read the fine print."

"Ugh. And what was the fine print?"

"Well, I get to pay."

I waited for the rest of what he was going to say, but there wasn't any more. "And?"

We stopped to wait for a red light and he turned to me. "Period."

"What?"

"Period. I get to pay. Period. The end."

Ok, no fucking way. "No fucking way. There wasn't a contract, you fucktard."

"Oh, no, you misunderstood. You signed it when you agreed to date me. That was implicit in your positive verbal agreement."

The smile he had was almost too cocky. Fucking cocky bastard. I had no idea what the fuck half of that even meant, and I think he knew it. I just glared at him.

He nudged me to walk across the street when it turned green and he shrugged again. "So, do something else, then."

"Like what?" The fact that I did not immediately jump to some conclusion about him wanting something sexual out of this said more about him than he'd ever know.

He shrugged. "You like to cook right?"

"Yeah."

"Make me dinner."

Hmm. "Oh."

He nodded. "We'll amend our current contract to include the provision for you to make me dinner on occasion."

"What the fuck kind of language are you speaking?"

"That's Charles Hawkins speak, the language of the financially evil world. I will only use it in terms of this contract negotiation and never again."

I sighed, "Tyler, that's not fair. I should be paying for some of the dates."

"It's fair," he said. "You can invite me over for dinner anytime you want." He smirked.

I mean, if I was making dinner, I'd have to buy the groceries. It was _sort_ of a fair trade. At least I'd be doing something.

"I'm not doing it for that, either," he added.

"For what?"

"For dinner. Or for you to pay for something in return. I like being with you. That's all. So, it's good. I'm not, like, keeping track."

I snorted. "Right, ok." We were almost to my apartment then. "What do you like?"

He smirked. "I'm not picky."

"So, that's how this is gonna go, huh?"

"Yup."

"So… movie on Monday. Call me with the time. I work late again on Tuesday. You wanna come over for dinner on Tuesday?"

He had several smiles: The cocky, smug, cunt-bastard one; the happy and goofy one; the small smirk one. This was the sincere and hopeful one. "I'd love to."

"We can figure out a time after the movie, then."

"Sounds like a plan."

I'd made a plan! An actual, with times and dates, plan! It was kinda fucking exciting! And terrifying.

"You're really not going to tell me what you like to eat?"

"Surprise me," he said opening the door for me and walking backward a few steps before taking off.

There was so much _feeling _with Tyler. I hadn't felt this much of anything in such a long time, it felt like butterflies in my stomach—and not the bad kind either. It was like that a lot with him—the butterflies. He put me on edge in really good ways, and he constantly surprised me. I'd never seen the ice skating coming. Sure, we'd joked about it that night at the diner, but I never thought it'd happen. And then there he was, all fucking happy and excited, standing in my apartment with that look on his face.

I wasn't afraid. It just put me in unknown territory—positive unknown territory for once. Maybe that was good for me, though. Just as long as it didn't blow up in my face.

I was really fucking happy that once I got over the whole fear of smashing my face into the ice, I was a goddamn natural on the skates—his words, not mine. And the… I wasn't sure what it was… bravery, maybe, that he gave me when he'd literally already paid for the fucking skates and we'd put them on, and he'd _fucking tied them for me, _was all just… perfect. And nice. He was so fucking nice, and then he literally would have just bailed on the whole thing if I wanted to right there.

That was what I meant before—the way he just kept trying but would totally piss away the money and the time he'd spent on it if I really didn't want to. That he'd never force me into anything. I was so used to being forced into things that when he just flat-out was all _whatever I wanted to do,_ and he was cool with it, I just couldn't help but push forward.

It was my decision, then, and that made all the goddamn difference. I was making all of these choices and decisions. He was leaving them up to me.

The best part of skating was telling that fucking cunt-bitch mother to mind her own fucking business after he'd broken my fall. Falling on top of him hadn't been planned, but he hadn't let me fall either. He'd broken mine, taking most of the hit himself. No one ever broke my falls in any sense of the word. Those falls were usually bruising and breaking, and left me empty and alone. He'd done it without a thought, like he did a lot of things with me, just…because. Like there didn't need to be a reason.

He was bigger than he seemed when I was lying on him, our legs all tangled together and the skate blades stuck. He was soft and hard all at once, and if I was being honest with myself, I liked the way he felt pressed against me. Just the warmth alone was nice. The feeling of him so close, just _there_. My mind jumped all over the place, but I didn't want to tease him or give him the wrong idea when I wasn't ready for what I wanted. So I didn't stay there as long as I wanted to.

There was so much from him—little things that meant a lot to me, and the huge things that made this easy. His face and his smile and his mission to make me realize that every time I said I didn't have a favorite, or that I wasn't picky about shit, I was holding back from him and he couldn't get to know me if I didn't know me, either. All from a fucking hot dog.

And I wasn't blind or stupid, but it was times like that when I realized just how attractive he really was. I mean, women looked at him all the time—I saw it—he just never seemed to notice. I didn't really pay attention all that much, but I could notice when we were in public. Women around the rink watched him, and women in the snack bar looked at him, and I mean, they were right—he was a real fucking catch. I mean, _damn_. The charming smile, the kind eyes that were this really amazing shade of blue, and the boy had the best fucking hair, ever. I would have been lying to myself if I didn't think about how much I wanted to touch his fucking hair.

What was even more uncommon was that he had a great personality to go with the fact that he was fucking gorgeous. He was sensitive and always really gentle, and kinda mysterious but easy to get along with, and smart and funny, and what the _fuck_ was he doing with me? A stripper whose fucking past he didn't even know yet? Someone who couldn't even tell him what her favorite color was? Someone who he had to explain why that shit was actually important, and used a hot dog as an example? He could have had any of the women there with the drop of a hat.

Why me?

That was a question I kept asking myself frequently over the next few weeks.

After the first movie, he'd declared Mondays movie night. Mondays didn't always work out, so he wound up having to change his declared day to a floating movie night. The romantic comedy we'd seen had been decent—I didn't know anyone in it, but the movie was good. The story was completely lame and would never happen, but I kinda forgot that until the credits started rolling. After we'd talked about the movie, he'd laid out this master plan he'd come up with for discovering all of my favorites, from really important shit to other really not important shit. It was actually really cute. And incredibly sweet.

I couldn't really tell him if romantic comedies were my favorite type of movie, but I could tell him I liked it more than _Psycho,_ and he'd laughed at that but seemed to think it was some kind of progress that I could compare the two. So far, in his movie part of the Favorites Mission, we'd seen some drama with people in funny wigs that I'd understood nothing of what happened, and I was pretty sure Tyler had fallen asleep, and another one where there was more blood in the first fifteen minutes than I'd seen in my entire life. I had a sneaking feeling that Tyler hadn't picked that one to figure out if it was my favorite. I think he'd just wanted to see that one. He called it research. Fucking dork.

We'd determined I liked butter over non-buttered popcorn better and that I really didn't have a favorite candy as long as it was covered in chocolate. He thought it was really funny for some reason that I always turned down other types of candy that weren't chocolate-coated.

Sitting next to him in theatres with other people was an odd experience. It felt normal, but then again, not, because we weren't really together. I mean, we were, of course, but we weren't together… alone, and you had to be quiet through the entire movie. I couldn't ask him questions like I could if we were at one of our apartments, and we couldn't stop the movie and talk about something, and then, half the time, by the end of the movie, I'd forgotten whatever it was I'd wanted to ask.

But even with all of that, I liked going to the theatre. I liked the way that the darkness snuck in and sort of took you out of the world while the movie played on that huge screen. I wish I'd realized how easy an escape it really was when I'd been in NOLA or Vegas—might have kept me out of some really fucked up situations.

I'd catch him watching me sometimes when we were in the theater. It wasn't that he was being obvious exactly, and I think sometimes he was just trying to see what my reaction was going to be, but other times I'd catch him just watching, and it got to a point where he wouldn't even look away if I caught him. He'd just smile and only turn away if I turned first. I wasn't sure what he was looking for those times, and I didn't really know how to react either. I thought… I thought sometimes he wanted to kiss me, but that wasn't something I had a lot of experience with in a thing like this, either. I didn't want to assume that's what he was going for only to have it fall flat. That would be embarrassing.

Still, that didn't stop me from randomly grabbing his hand the last time we left the theatre and were walking back to my apartment. I didn't really even realize I'd done it at first. We were just talking about the movie and deciding that mystery movies just made me angry and were not my favorite, and it just sort of… happened. His hands hadn't been in his pockets for once, and it was just kinda there, and mine was there, and I just… did it. We hadn't talked about it or anything, and the idea was just there, and I put my hand around his and our fingers linked, and we just kept walking like I hadn't even done it. I knew he was happy with it, though. If his smile was any indication, he was really fucking happy. And his fingers would squeeze mine every now and then like he didn't want to forget we were holding hands or something. It seemed like a really tiny thing, but for some reason it felt like a really big step to me, too.

I liked his hands instantly. They were huge compared to mine, but not in the way that normally made me flinch. Any size hands could do damage, of course, but the bigger they were, the bigger the injury could be. His hands were easily two of mine. They were strong, large palms, long fingers that seemed to be able to wrap around my entire hand, but something made them feel delicate, too.

When he'd held my hand, all I could think of was this tree that must have grown in my grandma's backyard. It was one of my clearest memories of that time. I couldn't remember my grandma's face, but I could remember every branch of that tree. I climbed it all the time and the branches always seemed like they weren't strong enough to hold my weight, but they would every time, even the smallest and most fragile looking ones. His grip was even like that—not loose, but still solid, holding firmly but still gently. Supportive.

I'd become completely fixated on the way his thumb rubbed back and forth over my skin. His thumb seemed massive, thick, and he didn't have a rhythm to the rubbing at all, like he only did it distractedly. And I liked that so much better than if he was doing it on purpose, but I had no idea why. I think because if he was doing it, and he didn't really realize, it meant something different. I dunno. But I liked that I couldn't find the pattern.

I made chicken and rice the first time I cooked him dinner, and I couldn't even begin to describe my happiness when he liked the meal. I'd sort of gone all out— I set the table and everything. Jordan and I weren't exactly sit-down people for dinner, and for as much as I liked to cook, the meals I made weren't usually eaten at the table like a family dinner. They were eaten while standing together in the kitchen, or we'd sit on the counter, or eat while watching TV, or split up and eat in our rooms. This was like a real fucking dinner. I had no idea how the forks and spoons and shit were supposed to be arranged, but I didn't think Tyler really cared.

I was nervous before he got there. Why, I didn't really know at the time, but I think it was because I wanted my plan to go well. I wanted this date to be like his always were—fun and easy and normal. And I wanted to surprise him a little bit, too—like he always surprised me. I wanted him to like it, to be a little bit impressed. This was the first _my date_ that was all my idea, all my plan. I hadn't wanted to impress someone, to worry about that in… I couldn't even remember when. That's probably why I'd decided on chicken—it was easy and most people liked it.

I also asked Jordan if she could go somewhere else for a few hours. I'd never asked her to do that before, and I wasn't sure what her reaction really was. She was shocked, that much I knew, and maybe that had blocked whatever else I might have been able to read because she pretty much just agreed and left. I hoped she wasn't mad about it, but I couldn't really see a reason for her to be. It wasn't like I asked her to do it ever before, and it wasn't like we were gonna be doing anything that I didn't want her to see or whatever, I just wanted the dinner to be nice and just ours. I understood immediately what Tyler had meant when he'd said that he kicked Aidan out because he wanted me to himself. I didn't want to share Tyler, either. I didn't want Jordan wandering out of her room to root through the leftovers. Not for this one anyway.

He was on time, like usual, and I moved aside to let him in. "You're very punctual."

When I pointed that out, his answer made me smile.

He chuckled, "Not usually, actually."

I closed the door and led him to the kitchen table. "Should I be impressed, then, that you've never been late for a date?" I pointed for him to sit.

He ignored my question for a second. "Jesus, look at this." He surveyed the table.

"There's actual silverware. And napkins! My food is normally lucky to have a plate under it."

I didn't really reply to that, but I was really happy that he noticed and that he said it.

"And, yes, you should be very impressed. I'll be late for my own funeral."

I turned to look at him, questioning.

He waved me off. "That's what my mother tells me all the time. If it wasn't for my sister calling to wake my ass up and shit, I'd miss most family functions."

"What about work and school," I ask, curious about his timeliness.

"I'm on time… relatively." He smirked.

"You pick up your sister, too, right? You make her wait for you?" I teased.

He shook his head, no trace of teasing. "I'm punctual for her, too. She's important, and she deserves me being there when I say I will be or when she thinks I will be. It shows her I care about her."

I nodded as I went back to the counter. So, his sister was important enough to be on time for, and that showed he cared. And he was on time to meet me…

He wound up answering it for me. "You deserve it, too," he said quietly.

I found myself completely speechless and more emotional than I should have been. I distracted myself by getting the chicken on a plate—regular plates were totally serving dishes despite what several cooking books had told me. I put the rice in a bowl and carried both to the table handing one off to Tyler, who put it gently on the tabletop. Seriously, it was really fucking funny how careful he was putting the plate of chicken down.

I went back to get the vegetable—I'd cheated there and found a can of green beans in the pantry that had, thankfully, not expired, and decided I'd round off the meal with that.

There were, like… food groups represented and everything.

"You want bread or anything?" I asked.

"Uh, no. I think this is good." He smiled.

"What do you want to drink? I actually went out and bought beer. Or there's Coke, or milk… I think we have juice."

His brow furrowed. "You bought beer?"

I nodded.

"For me?" he asked pointing to himself.

"Well, Jordan will drink it if you don't, but… yeah. That's normal, right? To get a beverage your guest likes? You bought Diet Coke," I reminded him.

"No, yeah. No."

I laughed.

His smile was soft. "You just didn't have to. I think I'll have milk with dinner, if that's cool."

Milk with dinner. Could he be any more adorable?

I smirked. "Sure."

"How did you buy beer anyway," he asked as I poured him a glass of milk.

I rolled my eyes, scoffing, "Dude, please. How do you think I get into bars? I've had a fake ID since I was, like, fifteen."

"Oh," he nodded slowly, "right. Of course."

I prodded as I gestured for him to take some chicken and start. "What? Is that too criminal for you?"

He chuckled, "No. I just didn't think of that. I forget that you're not twenty-one yet. I dunno why. I guess you just seem more…" He glanced at me and smirked. "I was going to say mature, but that sounds cliché and condescending. You just seem more… worldly."

Worldly. I smiled. "I like worldly."

And I loved that he even gave a shit about sounding any way toward me. That he gave two shits about the fact that something he said might make me feel bad. I _was_ worldly. I couldn't think of a nicer way to put it.

I found myself fascinated with him eating the food I'd made, and he didn't seem to mind at all that I was much more interested in him eating it than me eating it myself. I really wasn't a bad cook. I was actually a pretty fucking kick-ass cook, and he had no problem telling me so.

I think I held my breath when he took the first bite and I didn't let it out until he was done swallowing and he smiled at me, pointing to the chicken with his fork. "This… is really good. And I haven't had a meal that I actually sat down for, with utensils, that did not come from a wrapper, a microwave, or a plastic dish for like a fucking year. Holidays don't count," he added quickly. He sighed, "And I'm so tired of sandwiches."

I actually nearly spit out my own milk at that. After I'd let out the breath and tried to hide the fact that my face might break from the smile he'd brought, the sandwich thing just kinda got me. "Poor Tyler and his sad life of sandwiches. Monday, turkey sandwich. Tuesday, ham sandwich. Wednesday, PB&J. Thursday, turkey sandwich. I can see how that would get depressing."

He laughed. "More like: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday—turkey sandwich. Saturday—Burger King."

I laughed.

"You've seen the fridge. There is only one kind of lunchmeat, and it's always in danger of being well past its expiration."

I nodded. "Yeah, that was a sad fridge." I paused and then added, "Funny how the beer never runs out."

He snorted, taking a bite of rice. "Well, I mean, who gets tired of beer? Sandwiches though…"

"Right."

Boys could eat. He was no different. And he wolfed down a first helping pretty impressively. "Have some more." I pointed and he wasn't shy about having more, and I couldn't have been fucking happier.

"Where'd you learn to cook?" he asked after starting on his second plate.

I shrugged. "I just kinda picked it up along the way. I was like you for a long time," I smiled, "I ate a lot of takeout, a lot of shit in wrappers."

"Did you just teach yourself?"

I nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. I started grabbing recipe books when we moved here. Jordan said I needed something to do." I smirked.

"Why, what did you do otherwise?"

I debated a minute but then decided to answer. It was an innocent question—my life just didn't have a lot of innocent answers. He seemed to notice I was debating the answer.

He started, "You don't have to… I didn't mean–"

"I slept a lot."

He didn't give much of a reaction, but I think he knew I wasn't done. He stopped eating, though, and his attention was fixed on me.

"And I was high a lot."

"High like stoned on weed high, or high like tweaking in the streets high?"

"High like there's a lot I don't remember. There were times I could have been tweaking in the streets and I wouldn't have known. Or cared." I thought the cared was probably important, even if he didn't know why. It told him more without me having to tell him a lot of details.

"Stronger than weed, then," he said quietly, but there wasn't any judgment there. That wasn't there at all.

"Weed didn't cut it."

"What did?"

"Well, nothing really, but I tried just about everything else—coke, crack, heroin, K, E, Meth. I would try anything. I didn't like the needles so I didn't do heroin a lot. I missed smoking so crack was my go-to for a while. Pills were easy, too. Easy to get and cheaper a lot of the time than the other drugs. K was mellow, and it was quick—like PCP-light. I liked that. PCP without the really fucked up side effects."

"_K_?"

"Special K. Vitamin K. Ketamine."

"Ah." He nodded and paused, then added, "Can you tell me why?"

I debated about blurting the whole thing right there over chicken dinner, but I wasn't ready. He wasn't ready, either.

"Not yet."

He nodded. "Ok." He chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes. "Is that why you don't drink?"

One of many reasons. "Yeah, partly. I tried to just stay away from all of that after Vegas."

He nodded again. "You think you'll tell me someday?"

I smiled. "Yeah, probably."

That was about as much as I could offer at this point. The further into this I got with him, the harder the thought of telling him was. Which was kinda fucked up and ass-backwards, but the more I liked hanging out with him, the more I thought of this becoming a _thing_, the more I had to lose if he bailed.

"Thanks," he said suddenly.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"Thanks for dinner, too, but that's not what I meant."

Oh. Fucker just couldn't go a night without surprising me. I didn't really know what to say to that, so I shrugged and said that first thing that came to mind, "You're welcome."

"You've ruined me now, you realize."

"What do you mean?" One drug conversation and he was ruined? The fuck?

"I'm never going to be able to look at a sandwich again. You'll have to feed me more often."

I smiled. "I can probably do that. Jordan isn't much fun to cook for. You're much more grateful, and you eat more."

He laughed.

"It's nice when someone eats what you make and likes it, ya know?"

He shook his head. "No, I wouldn't really, but I'll take your word for it."

I started collecting dishes from the table when we'd finished and was surprised when he started helping. I mean, I didn't stop him—I wasn't stupid—if the boy wanted to help clean up, why should I stop him?

"I don't really have dessert, but we have ice cream. I'm sure that'd go nicely with beer."

He smirked handing me more of the dishes and the plate of chicken. "What do you do with the leftovers?"

I snorted, "Why, do you want a doggie bag?"

He shrugged. "Depends when I'm getting fed again."

I snickered, "You look pretty well fed despite all the sandwiches."

"Well, I'd be healthier if I was eating chicken and rice. I'm just saying. For my health."

"Right. I'll make you a to-go plate, and we'll figure out when you're getting fed again before you leave."

"Cool."

I started packing up the leftover food and putting dishes in the sink to wash. He hovered.

"You want help?"

My eyebrows went up.

"I'm shit at washing, but I can dry."

"Towel's over there." I pointed, and when he retrieved it, I handed him the first dish.

He was the slowest fucking dryer on the planet, or he wanted to do it really well. It was cute either way.

After a few dishes that were so dry they had something over on the desert, he asked, "So, was that your favorite kind of chicken?"

I snorted, "Can you have a favorite kind of chicken?"

"Of course," he insisted. "I like white meat over dark, and that's not even taking into account the flavor of the chicken. Or that you can have crispy or deep fried or baked."

I chuckled, "I think I just like chicken. Chicken is my favorite chicken."

"That's a total cop-out." He swatted at me with the towel.

I thought about it. "No, I can really say I just like chicken."

He smiled. "Ok."

"Oh, fuck. I forgot to tell you!" He looked at me eagerly. "So, I come inside after skating, right?"

"Yeah."

"And Jordan asks where I've been, so I tell her. And of course she looks at me like I'm insane, but she looks at me like that a lot lately, so I just kind of blurt out that I do not like relish on my hot dogs, and my favorite has ketchup on it, and otherwise, chili cheese was pretty good. By now her eyes are, like, fucking buggin' out of her head, and when I finally fucking shut up, she's all, 'He finally put out, huh?' and, 'You kinky bitch! I've never done relish or ketchup or chili cheese, never got much beyond whipped cream or chocolate sauce, but you should get on with whatever fantasy knocks your socks off.'"

I realized three things: Tyler had gone completely quiet, his mouth was open, and he looked like he was about to drop the plate he was holding.

"Tyler?" I asked, concerned.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and I finally took the plate out of his hands before it smashed.

"Are you ok?"

"What… You mean… She… You… You can't just… casually joke about sucking my dick! That shit's not funny!" He sputtered some more, but I couldn't even make out what he was saying.

Of course, his reaction was even better than Jordan's. I mean, sure, Jordan and I had a laugh about it as I set her straight, somewhat embarrassingly, and she knew all along I wasn't really talking about Tyler's dick. This, though, this was priceless.

"Stop laughing!" he said, his voice getting higher by the second, but he was chuckling, too.

I tried to stop, but every time I looked at him, I'd bust up again. He finally took the dish back and dried it angrily before stacking it on top of the other plates.

"I'm sorry," I managed to wheeze out. "I just… your face…"

"Uh huh. Laugh it up."

I managed to change the subject then and we finished the dishes.

It was quieter, but we were both smirking, and I really didn't know how to handle it at all. Part of me wanted to just drop to my knees and suck him off right there, watch the plate fall to the floor and clatter as he gripped the counter. The other part was terrified of what that meant and thought way too fucking much about every detail of it—this was easy, this was nice; _that_ would change everything. But I'd brought it up, and I didn't want him to think I was leading him on or teasing him with no payoff either. I had said _no sex_ and he hadn't asked about it once. If this was turning into something, then the _no sex_ part had a time limit. Eventually, something was going to happen. So I wanted to tell him that, but I had no timeframe that I could give him either.

I struggled with it back and forth for the rest of the night.

He had a beer as we just kinda sat around the table and bullshitted until it was time for him to go. I'd made up my mind by the time he'd gotten to the door that if I was gonna say something to him, it had to be now, or it'd be too late. So I was standing in the doorway watching him walk down the hallway and nearly chickened out, but the minute he started down the stairs, I called his name and he turned back.

"When it happens, it'll be worth the wait. And I won't need relish or ketchup, or chocolate sauce or whipped cream, or anything else."

He smirked and nodded, then said, "I know," and waved as he walked down the stairs.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

Blog: http:/htf-wtrm(dot)blogspot(dot)com/


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

**Playlist for Chapter Eight: http(colon)/www(dot)playlist(dot)com/playlist/22873854987**

* * *

**TPOV**

So… she pretty much just told me that—at some point—when, I didn't know, but an indefinite point in the future, she was totally gonna give me the blowjob of a lifetime. And I had no doubt that it would probably be the best thing that had happened in my life thus far, at that time. She was worth waiting for.

This was going far better than I could have imagined. She was into me, and I think I'd pretty much fallen for her from the get-go. The simple fact that we were actually dating—like, real dating and not just an excuse for fucking—was surprisingly pleasant. The slow pace of the whole thing was a switch, but it sure as hell made the anticipation great. And I wanted her to be ready when it happened. I didn't want the easiness of this, of what we built, the way it was always comfortable—even if it was awkward—to change. I'd fucked up a lot of relationships with sex. Hell, I'd fucked up a lot of potential relationships with sex and the morning after. I didn't want that with her, so I'd wait as long as it took.

My list of information continued to widen, and sometimes it seemed like she was an iceberg that'd only just peaked the surface—only showing me the essentials with an endless supply of shit I didn't know under the surface of the water. It was fascinating how deep the iceberg went, and how much she could keep concealed, because every time I thought I'd gotten a larger section of information, it became apparent how much more there was.

It was addicting—interesting choice of words given some of the information—the little bits, because the puzzle was never fully assembled. It was glaringly obvious to me that I wasn't even sure I had the four sides of the frame completely assembled. In a way, the more that I had left to compile, that meant there was more about her to learn, and that was exciting in its own right. It may not have been traditional, or the normal way people got to know each other, but it was us and I liked that we had enough of that to call it an 'us.'

The movie and dinner nights became my favorite activity. I wasn't sure at which point the dinners became a regular thing, but it sort of just fell into both of our routines that way. We dorkily even sat down and hashed out our schedules and figured out which nights I had free that matched with ones she had free, then those all became some form of date or dinner night. And because I knew it drove her absolutely fucking nuts, on nights when she'd cook dinner, I'd make a point to call her when I was on my way and ask, "What's for dinner?"

I liked the dinners more than the movies because movies were an assurance of two solid hours of only watching. I couldn't learn as much from watching, but that also didn't stop me, and she didn't seem at all bothered by my scrutiny. She'd just stare right back at me, intent and challenging, until her attention was pulled back to the screen. I liked that it made her smile without making her self-conscious. I had absent thoughts wondering about her looking that challenging and intent in my bed, but I pushed those aside because I was being a good boy, and I begged my dick to do the same.

The best thing to come out of the movies wasn't really anything to do with finding her favorite genre. It was watching her face light up when the screen came on and the levity that she always seemed to leave the theatre with, no matter what movie we'd seen. I think she liked the distraction, the escapism that it provided. That wasn't even the best part, though. That came after our last movie date when we were walking back to her apartment and she randomly just grabbed my hand. Just out of nowhere, all of a sudden, this tiny, little hand wormed its way into mine. It felt like it should have been there all the time. And it was so… minor. It was such an insignificant thing with most people, but with her, for her to get to even that stage—when it was like wrangling a frightened animal to start with—it was so fucking huge. It felt like this huge barrier had been crossed even though there was a colossal ocean of uncertainty still in front of us.

That was nothing then compared to our last dinner.

Our first dinner had been more discoveries—what she'd told me, and the fact that she was a fucking awesome cook. I wasn't sure what to expect when I'd suggested the dinner thing, but something told me I wouldn't be disappointed, and when it became routine, I wasn't sure how I ever lived without it. She was much more creative and imaginative with her cooking than she was normally, and I figured that was probably why she liked it. It was also why I praised and encouraged the shit out of her for it then, too. Her face always got the same smile on it when I said anything positive about the meal. Pride. I liked it on her.

She was better about letting information slip—she no longer debated as long with herself before telling me something, but she still only gave me little snippets at a time. I hadn't expected the answer about the drugs really, I hadn't been asking that, but I was grateful she was honest with me. Her past didn't matter to me—we all had one—but that didn't mean I didn't want to know and understand where she came from and how she came to be the person I knew. I suspended all judgment because the last time I hadn't, I wound up nearly losing it all before it began. And I _didn't_ judge her for it, I couldn't, there was too much else to the story that I didn't have. But even when I had it, I didn't think I'd judge her then, either.

The picture that was forming was sort of cliché, I suppose: A foster kid on the run most likely, or running with someone, who fell into drugs to escape the past or the present—a present that had included creepy Norman Bates dudes and life experiences that every illegal drug on the market could not erase. I knew it wouldn't have been received well, but sometimes when she'd tell me something, the loss and fear, and just, emptiness, in her eyes made me want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. The pain that flashed there was almost too much for me, and I didn't even know what the fuck was in her mind.

The last dinner we'd had was, quite possibly, the most epic thing to happen thus far.

She didn't seem to have many people who she was in contact with other than Jordan and me. And no one from the places she'd lived before. So, it was odd that night when there was a postcard under the cat magnet on the fridge. Their fridge had the most random selection of magnets—obviously collected in their travels from state to state. One advertised some auto shop in North Carolina, another the No-Name Ranch in Austin, TX. Another one was the ugliest shade of yellow and was from Nebraska. One advertised a beer I shockingly was not familiar with, and an evil, beady-eyed owl watched over the kitchen. The cat was one of the only relatively normal ones, and as I was frequently in the kitchen, the postcard kind of leaped out at me.

I wasn't trying to be nosy, it sort of just intrigued me because I'd never seen a postcard on the fridge like that before, and it had to be important enough for one of them to pin it there. I was on my second beer and she was finishing the dishes, and I was just drawn over to the fridge and was turning it over before I'd really even asked if that was cool or not.

The front had four pictures; all vividly colored, and sprawled over them was _Italia_. I suppose the colors had drawn me in, because they were so vibrant and bright, gleaming off the paper of the postcard. The beauty in the pictures was astounding, and the color names couldn't be reduced to the ordinary and normal—there were no yellows, pinks, greens, or blues.

The scenery on the four pictures started with a truly amazing azure blue sea with stark white flowers from a shrub hanging over the water. If possible, the austerity of the flowers made the sea seem an even more lurid shade of blue. The second picture was of the countryside through the frame of an arched doorway. The doorway led through a field of moss green and sepia, and a city loomed in the far distance. The third picture was of a street, cobbled pavement wet from a rain, and each building front a different color: one brick, one canary, one salmon, one jade, on and on down the street. Baskets of flowers hung from balconies hanging over the building fronts. The sky was the masterpiece of the last picture, although the Tuscan town below it was quite impressive in its own right. Buildings crowded together with a domed center, all the same burnt orange roofs and ochre brick. The sky, though, was a mixture of various shades of carnation pink and cadet blue mixed with an ashy gray—it reminded me of cotton candy—with a layer of hazy fog in the distance rolling toward the town. The framing of the picture was stunning, too.

Someone had sent her this carefully selected postcard all the way from Italy. I flipped it over and scanned the address. It was sent to Allison—no Mallory here—so they obviously knew her, the real her.

"Who are Doug and Lois?" I asked. Her head jerked in my direction and I put the postcard back immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I should have asked first."

She shook her head. "No, it's ok. It was just weird for someone else to say their name. No one else really knows about them." She came over to the fridge and moved the magnet again, turning over the postcard.

"I didn't read it," I assured her. "I just saw the name and was curious. You don't talk about them, so…"

She smiled, but her brows pulled down like it was odd that I hadn't read it. "You can read it." She handed it to me.

_Allison,_

_The colors here remind me of New Orleans, especially on some of the streets—sometimes it looks like Bourbon Street. Who'd have thought we'd get to Italy? Hope things are good with you. Wish you could see this place. I think you'd like it. Lois says hi. _

–_Doug_

Doug had sort of a hurried scrawl, but I could tell he was trying to be legible. His name was the least legible part of the writing, probably more like his penmanship normally was. I couldn't claim mine was any better, but I could sense that he'd made the effort here.

"How do you know them?" I asked.

"Long story."

I nodded. Road block. Back up, Tyler.

I put the postcard back under the magnet. She looked at it… warmly, and it was obviously special enough to her to be on the fridge, which was exactly why I wanted to know who they were and what they meant to her. If I sent her a postcard, would I have made it on the fridge?

"They seem like nice people," I settled for.

She nodded, putting away the last few dishes. "Yeah, they are."

"I'm glad." I smiled and she leaned against the counter for a minute, arms out.

"You wanna watch TV or something for a while?"

"Sure."

We retreated to the couch and she turned on whatever random channel they'd left the TV on. It was static-y, like usual, like a blizzard that kept playing on the screen. Half the time I couldn't make out what the hell was on the fucking thing, but I wasn't concentrating on the TV or thinking about asking if she wanted to watch a movie. The blizzard was fine with me, because it was just background noise, and her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

My mind was floating somewhere between asking again, because I was just too fucking curious, and abandoning it altogether because she had pressed herself right against me, her legs folded under her and her body sort of sideways on the couch. Her knees were resting on my thigh, and it was the most of her body that was ever in contact with mine, ever. I struggled to maintain composure and not giggle in my exultation, or do something really stupid like point it out and make her move.

My hand sort of landed on top of her knees of its own volition, and then two things that were completely marvelous happened all at once—she started telling me about Doug, and her hand landed on top of mine. Focusing became extremely difficult because I really wanted to listen, but she kept running just one finger up and down over each of my knuckles and following the veins until they reached my wrist.

"Doug came into the strip joint I was working at. I don't think he was really looking for anything in particular; he just wanted to get away or something. He'd been there for some meeting, and then these guys he knew walked in and I offered to help him get away from them with a private lap dance."

That stopped me short for a second, and I tried not to say anything, because now she had me wondering if private lap dances still happened, and I kind of asked it before I could stop myself. I blame it on her distracting fingers.

She smiled and looked up at me for a second. "No. It doesn't."

I nodded, relieved. I had a hard enough time trying to block out what she did. I wasn't sure how I'd handle knowing she was not only stripping on a stage, but rubbing all over some dude on top of that in a back room.

"He kind of… I dunno, adopted me. As his thing to save or something. Tried to set me straight or whatever. They'd lost a daughter in a car accident and I think I filled the void, gave him something to focus on. He basically moved in with me, cleaned up the shithole that I lived in, got shit working, and forced me to get out of bed. It wasn't like… it was weird because he was sort of like a dad-figure, but just a friend, too. He was the first person who made me really stop to think about what I was doing. Then, his wife suddenly shows up, and she hasn't left the house in, like, years, and she kinda moved in, too. I think they wanted to take me home and adopt me for real. I relied on them, and they were really nice to me, but I just... I bailed. I couldn't be their daughter, and I wasn't open to a happily-ever-after ending."

She'd gotten quieter toward the end, and she'd flipped my hand over, her finger tracing the lines back and forth, a feathery touch that made my whole hand tingle and goosebumps break out over my arm. If she noticed she didn't say anything, she just traced up and down my fingers and then back to the lines.

I swallowed thickly because the light touching was starting to make me think of other things with her this close, so I forced myself to get back to her story.

"When was this?"

"When I left NOLA, so around '08, I guess. When I bailed on them, I left for Texas. But I know they care about me, so I try to drop a line, tell them I'm all right every once in a while."

'08 meant that she was seventeen then, or near there. If she'd been in New Orleans for any length of time, leaving home had been an early venture.

I didn't ask anything else—I thought she'd given me enough for one night—so we just sat there for a while, and eventually her body slowly slumped and her head landed on my shoulder. I'd seen the movement and made sure I stayed completely still so she wouldn't stop. Elation was so fucking high. If that hadn't been enough, right after I strategically managed to rest my cheek gently against the top of her head, she said, so quietly I almost missed it, "You remind me of him sometimes. Of Doug."

Was that a compliment or not?

"Is that a good thing?" I breathed over her hair. It smelled like… honestly, it just smelled like shampoo. And that just made so much sense that I smiled right into her hair, nuzzling gently. She wouldn't have been a fruity or flowery smell kind of girl for shampoo, nothing fancy and extravagant, just clean and fresh. It fit her perfectly.

She nodded against my shoulder, her fingers curling around mine, stopping the tracing. "Yeah." I closed my fingers around hers, too, and basked in the warmth of her near me. "Doug's a good man."

I think there was another compliment there, but she didn't say it, and I was too wrapped in the moment to tease her about it. I think we kinda dozed for a while, and I really wanted to just stay right there, so of course I had to force myself to go. I wasn't sure how much longer the forcing was going to last, though. A few more nights with her cuddled next to me and I was going to be permanently sleeping on her couch or something.

I kept her hand in mine as she walked me to the door and then I pulled our joined hands up to press a kiss into the back of her hand. Her smile was sleepy and warm, and laced with a slight blush.

"Goodnight," I said quietly.

"'Night, Tyler."

I'd felt high myself when I left, the kind that required no substance other than her company.

It was just too bad I hadn't thought to look at the date.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

Blog: http:/htf-wtrm(dot)blogspot(dot)com/


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine **

* * *

**Playlist for Chapter Eight: http(colon)/www(dot)playlist(dot)com/playlist/23042651403**

* * *

**APOV**

My phone rang and I grabbed it off the nightstand, smiling when it was Tyler's number. "Hi," I said. It was late. Like, way late. He didn't normally call me this late.

"Hey," he said. He sounded… I wasn't sure how he sounded.

"You ok?" I thought I should ask.

He didn't answer; there was just silence on the phone.

"Tyler?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm here."

"Are you ok?"

"Can I come up?"

"You're here?" I moved to the window, looking down, and spotted him standing on the sidewalk and facing the street.

"Yeah."

"Of course," I said.

He hung up then and I tossed my phone back on the nightstand. I opened the door before he reached it and waited just outside of it in the hallway. I watched as he rounded the corner on the stairs, one last flight before my floor. His hand slid along the railing and his feet seemed heavy, like he was walking in mud or something. He looked tired.

When he reached the landing, his hands went in his jacket pockets and he moved forward without noticing that I was in the hall. It was like he wasn't really seeing where he was, like his mind was somewhere else completely. His head was down, his face was pulled tight, his eyebrows pulled down, and I had no idea really what to do. I just waited outside the door with my arms folded in front of me, worried.

He was kinda surprised when he finally noticed I was standing there and he tried a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. I didn't like the look in his eyes at all. It was dark. Lost. Confused. All I could think about was how much I wanted to hug him.

I uncrossed my arms and kinda just held them out for a second and he stepped right into me, his hands leaving his pockets and his arms going around my body. One landed flat on my back and the other around my waist, his hand fisting in my shirt there. He never seemed this tall when we were hanging out. But he was pretty tall. I was standing on my tiptoes to reach his neck, my hand landing there because it seemed like the place to hang on as I put the other one on his back like his was on mine. He breathed deeply and I felt him let it out, his face pushed into the space between my neck and shoulder.

It felt like we stood there forever, not talking at all, so I figured I must have done the hugging thing right. Hugging was comforting, I think. It was supposed to be. I had no fucking experience with it, but he seemed to think it was good. He kept breathing out deeply and I could feel the air hot on my neck. I squeezed him. "Come on, come inside."

He didn't let go right away. That made me feel good. Made me feel like he thought I was helping. Even if I had no fucking clue what I was really doing, he thought it was helping.

He followed me to the couch and we both sat down as I curled my legs under me, waiting for him to talk. I just watched him and he just looked ahead, like I wasn't even there. I wasn't pissed off or anything, but it wasn't like him. He wasn't acting like himself, and I didn't like it. He wasn't ignoring me, he just wasn't… it was like he wasn't really there. And this was so much different than the couch experience we'd had last night. That's why this felt so strange, why everything was weird. Was it something about last night? Had I done something wrong? Was he just being nice with the hug and now this was it or something? Fuck, I wished he would talk. I mean, I hadn't thought about last night when I'd done it—I'd just wanted to be close to him and I thought it would be ok—I thought he'd like me putting my head on his shoulder. Ugh. Enough of this. If something was gonna happen, I just wanted it over.

I touched his shoulder. "Hey."

He looked down and then over at me, snapping out of it.

His eyes didn't look any different. Blank. Just blank.

"What's going on?"

He sighed heavily. "Just not a good day."

Day. Day, as in not last night. That was good. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He shook his head and looked down again, staring off.

This was wrong. He was really weirding me out. He usually talked all the time. _We_ talked all the time. I didn't know what to do, and it was kinda scaring me.

I touched his shoulder again. "You're kinda weirding me out, Tyler."

"I'm sorry," he said, his head jerking in my direction for a second. "I don't mean to…" He paused. "I should go."

He started to get up and I pulled him back. "No, you can stay. I just… I don't know what to do for you."

He shook his head again. "I don't need you to do anything. I just didn't want to go home. So I walked around and then ended up here."

"Where did you walk?" There. I could make conversation.

"I dunno. All over."

"How long were you walking?"

"What time is it?"

"Like one AM?"

"Since this morning."

"You walked since this morning?" Jesus Christ. "Why?"

"Just thinking."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Everything."

I took a deep breath. Back to bad. That could be bad. "Ok, you're scaring me."

He chuckled, but not in a funny way. "Yeah. I'll just go, ok?"

I pulled him back again when he tried to get up. "Have you eaten today?"

He shook his head.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

I sighed, getting frustrated. I didn't do this kind of shit—I didn't know how. At all. "Tyler… I don't know what to do."

"You don't need to do anything. I told you, I just didn't want to go home."

"Do you wanna lie down? Crash here?"

It took him a while to answer, but he finally did. "Yeah, ok."

I got up and grabbed the pillow and blanket he'd used the first time he'd slept here and made up the couch. He sat heavily and took off his shoes, and I just waited to make sure he wasn't going to need anything.

He lay down and I thought I should ask, "Do you need anything?"

His eyes moved to me and it looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. "No," he said quietly instead.

I nodded, letting out a breath. "Ok. I'll… I'll be in my room if you do. Ok?"

He didn't answer, and I didn't think waiting was going to get me anywhere, so I turned and made it to the hall before he called my name.

"Yeah?" I called back. He didn't start talking, so I turned and went back to the living room. "Tyler?"

This was new. He looked scared this time.

"Can you…" He sighed. "Fuck."

"What?"

He dug his knuckle into his eye. "I just don't want to be alone right now." He moved on to picking at the worn couch cushion, and he didn't look at me once.

I sighed and tried to figure out how the fuck to do this. I finally decided to sit back down. He was on his side, curled in, but there was a space left in between his head and his legs, and I sat there and turned toward his head. I didn't know what he really wanted me to do. I didn't think he meant that I should literally just sit here with him, but he didn't move at all, and he didn't ask me for anything else. He was completely silent and kept looking at the cushion.

This was kinda stupid—me just sitting there. I moved a hand to his head and ran my fingers through his hair. His eyes closed and he let out a shaky breath, so I did it again.

I could do this comfort shit. It took me a while to figure it out—probably longer than it should have.

He kept letting out those shaky breaths. "Tyler?" Oh, Jesus. He was crying. Like, _really_ crying. The kind of crying that he was trying to keep in, but the minute I said his name it just all came out. He curled in on himself more, and because I was sitting in the middle of him, he just crowded into my body.

"It's ok, Tyler."

I think that's what you said when someone was crying. I remembered Jordan telling me that a few times when she hugged me while I cried. It was useless, but it was something to say.

I rested my hand on his neck, and then moved it down to rub his back, just letting him cry because it seemed like something he needed to get out. I didn't know what the fuck happened today to do this, but it must have been really shitty. I'd never seen him this upset. And it couldn't have been because of me.

He cried for a long time—the sobbing kind of crying. And he looked so fucking tired when he was done.

"Why don't you try to sleep?" I suggested.

He nodded without saying anything else, his eyes closed already.

I didn't know if I was supposed to stay or not. I waited until I knew he was sleeping and then I went to my room. I couldn't sleep there sitting up like that, but I didn't sleep when I got to my room, either. It bothered me, whatever he was going through, and I didn't know how to help. I didn't know what was wrong and he didn't want to tell me, so I didn't know what to do. I hated that feeling. I hated feeling helpless. And I hated feeling helpless _for_ him.

He hadn't been asleep very long when I heard him shout out. I nearly broke my ankle running to the fucking living room. He was sitting up on the couch, and I knew exactly what had happened because it happened to me all the time. Nightmares followed fucked up days like flies on shit. I didn't have them as much anymore, but I had them all the fucking time in Vegas.

"You ok?" I asked, sitting down next to him.

He was shaky, like whatever the nightmare had been had scared the shit out of him. He nodded, but he didn't answer me.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" I asked this knowing what the answer would be. I never wanted to talk about mine either.

"No," he said, his voice just as shaky as the rest of him.

"Why don't you try to go back to sleep again?"

"I don't want to sleep anymore," he said.

"Ok." I sighed. I just sat there with him, watching his head bob and fight sleep. "Tyler, you look so fucking tired. Why don't you at least try to—"

"I said I didn't want to fucking sleep anymore!" he yelled.

I stared at him.

"OK?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Ok."

I didn't want him to lose his temper. He'd never lost it again since that night he came down to the strip club. I didn't want it to happen now.

"Jesus," he said, only it was like a half cry again. He scrubbed his hands over his face angrily, like he was frustrated. "I just don't want to sleep," he said quietly.

He wasn't angry—I knew this part—he was scared. Terrified of dreaming again.

"Do you want me to make some coffee?" I asked.

He let out another one of those half cries. "Yeah. That'd be great."

I got up and waited for the first cup to be done and took it to him.

"Thank you."

"Sure."

"You don't have to stay up with me. I'll be fine with the coffee."

"I thought you didn't want to be alone."

"I don't. But I know you don't want to be around me right now, so I'll just drink the coffee and then I'll go."

"I didn't say I didn't want to be around you."

"You don't have to. I wouldn't want to be around me, either. I'm sorry I ruined your night."

I ignored that. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't think you owe me that much at least?"

The cup was at his mouth and he brought it down immediately. "Is that what this is about? I should owe you something because I wanted to come here?"

"No." That wasn't what I meant.

"I don't ask anything back when I do something for you. I don't expect you to give me an explanation. Why should it be any different if I'm the one asking? If we're friends, can't I ask?"

"I let you in, didn't I?" I threw back. "I let you crash here and shit."

He took a sip of the coffee and I could tell by his face it was still too hot, but he took another sip anyway.

"Why _did_ you come? Why didn't you go somewhere else?"

He looked at me for a minute and then shook his head and put the cup on the floor. "I don't know. Obviously, I made a mistake."

He started putting his shoes on. Shit. That wasn't what I meant at all. I just wanted him to talk to me, to tell me why he came to me.

"Tyler. Jesus Christ. It's like two in the morning."

He didn't stop or say anything back. He stood up and started walking for the door. "Thanks for the coffee. And for letting me… whatever."

"Tyler." I went after him, pushing the door closed when he opened it. "Just fucking tell me what's going on."

He looked at me, and for the first time the entire night, I thought he was actually seeing me. "My brother died. Ok? And I just wanted… I don't know what I wanted. I don't know why I came here. I just wanted someone to…" he trailed off and grabbed the door handle again. "I'm sorry I came here. I just thought you…" He shook his head and pulled the door open. "I thought that you of all people would understand. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

I pushed the door closed again and moved to hug him. He fought me for a second while I pulled him into the hug and then leaned on me, sobbing.

He totally fell apart.

I put my hand on the back of his neck again and held him to me, pressing gentle kisses into his head. "Tyler, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There wasn't really anything else to say. Telling him it would be ok would have been insulting at this point. Nothing could make this ok. That would have been like someone telling me everything would be ok after some asshole had just beaten me because I refused to do anal or some shit. All I could do was apologize, so I just kept that up, running my other hand over his back.

And what the fucking fuck? His brother just died and he came here after walking the entire day?

"C'mon." I said quietly, not letting go of him but pulling him with me. "C'mon, Tyler. Come with me."

I skipped the living room and pulled him down the hall with me instead, into my bedroom. He was never been in there before, and I really didn't think he was putting it together right now either. Jesus, he was a mess. I stripped him down to his boxers and T-shirt and he was such a fucking mess, I don't think he really noticed that either.

"Lie down," I said quietly, guiding him down to the bed. He just let me do it, and I realized that all night, this was what he wanted. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do, to let him fall apart and just be there.

He was lying on his back, tears still rolling back toward the bed. "Scoot over," I told him, moving him to the middle of the bed. I lay down next to him and rolled on my side. "C'mere."

He rolled into me and I held onto him while he cried, his face buried in my chest, his body shaking, and his arms around me so fucking tight, like I'd disappear if he let go. I knew that feeling, too. Like if you lost that last thing to hold onto, everything would just spin out of control completely.

He was pressed so tightly to me that our legs tangled together, my hands on his head and back. He cried himself right into an exhausted sleep. His face was all flushed and my shirt was soaked, but I didn't let him go after that either. I don't know why. I liked the feeling of him pressed against me. I liked the idea that I was actually giving him something that he needed. I'd never been able to do that for anyone. I never needed anyone. That's what I'd always told myself. And I thought Tyler was the same way—he was always ok on his own, he didn't need anybody. But maybe if he needed people sometimes, then I could, too. Maybe I could need him, too.

I slept on and off until he woke up, confused about where he was. He relaxed when he realized I was with him. I knew that he hadn't had a nightmare; there was just a different way of waking when it was from one of those.

"Where are we?" he asked quietly, half sitting up and looking down at the bed. His voice sounded completely fucked.

"My bedroom," I answered.

His head whipped back at me. "Oh."

If it had been a less serious night, I would have laughed at that.

He cleared his throat. "You… uh… brought me in here, right?"

I couldn't help smiling at that. "Yes."

He nodded. "Ok. Good."

He seemed like he didn't know what to do now. He wasn't bawling, and he glanced around the room before looking at me again. He let out a deep breath as he lay on his back again. "Uhm… I'm…"

Yeah, he didn't need to do that. "I'm sorry about your brother, Tyler."

His eyes closed for a second. "Thanks."

"I won't ask you about him… but if you want to talk about it… I'm, ya know, I'm here. Only if you want to."

No pressure.

His head turned to the side to look at me. I stared back until he rolled his head back again, looking up at the ceiling. "It's been six years today."

Thank fuck that it hadn't been today. It wasn't like that made it any better, but at least it wasn't the shock of today. I wouldn't have had any idea how to do that. It was still raw enough for him now. There was probably a reason for that, but I doubted I'd get it out of him. This seemed like he wasn't dealing very well with it.

He turned to look at me again and I didn't know what the fuck that meant. Was it ok to ask questions? Did he want me to leave it alone?

"What was his name?" That sounded safe. Easy.

"Michael."

"How old was he?" Another safe one, I thought.

"Twenty-two."

Tyler was gonna be twenty-two. That made a little bit more sense.

"I'll be older than him now. In a month, I'll be older than him."

"Does that feel weird?"

"Yeah. Very."

"You were young when he died."

It hadn't really been a question, but he answered it with a nod anyway.

"Were you close?"

Tyler didn't answer right away, and I didn't know if that meant I'd pushed too far or not.

"I thought so," he finally said quietly.

This whole communication shit was hard and overrated. It took _work_. Why couldn't we all just meet and be like, '_Hi, I'm Allison. Orphaned at four. Foster at eight. Clichéd foster life. Runaway at fifteen. Stripper-slash-hooker at sixteen. Ex-hooker-slash-stripper at eighteen. Almost twenty and living in New York… as a stripper. Sworn off men after a string of horrifying situations in Vegas. Authority issues and abandonment complex according to my court-appointed mindfucker. Not certain I'm worthy of love. Not sure I know what love even is. I've only felt normal around you. And you are?'_

And then he could just list his shit and we'd have it all buttoned up.

'_Hi, I'm Tyler. I'm almost twenty-two, and I'm a Gemini with family issues and a dead brother who haunts me six years later. I'm occasionally an asshole, but I still think I'm a nice guy. I live with a douche named Aidan and I don't really care about anything… except I do. About everything. I'm complicated and hard to read, but if you figure me out, I think it can be really great. Nice to meet you, Allison.' _

I didn't push and he started up again anyway. "He was a musician. Had a band, the whole deal. He'd just started working for my father, because musicians don't make any money and my father can be rather persuasive."

"Yeah," I filled appropriately.

"He killed himself on his birthday."

Oh, fuck. "Oh, Tyler. I'm sorry."

"That's not the best part," he said sarcastically.

Oh, God.

"We were supposed to have lunch, and he was late. And that was really fucking strange, ya know? Because Michael was always on time for me, he always showed for me. He was like the idealistic big brother. He came to my school whenever I had stupid shit going on, or came for the soccer game even though he could have been out with friends. I adored him. And he never made me feel like I was tagging along. It was just always, '_This is my brother, Tyler. He's coming with us._' There was never a question or asking for acceptance. It was just Michael and Tyler. Like a set. Even if he was eighteen and I was twelve.

"He gave me my first beer and taught me how to ride a bike and which pizza places to stay away from because they had health code violations or the beer was warm, which was, like, the same level of wrong. He snuck me into my first R-rated movie and paid attention when I was interested in something. He'd meet me for breakfast because he knew it was important to me, and I liked to think that it was important to him, too.

"So it was weird he was late, but he came. I gave him his present, and it was just a weird lunch. And, of course, I didn't realize why at the time, I just thought it was the birthday shit or whatever, or the fact that we were having a family dinner that night and those were always so much fun. Lunch lasted a lot longer than it normally did, but I didn't care because I ate up time with him. I just thought it was cool that he was hanging out with me longer, that he didn't have anywhere else he needed to be.

"It was a Friday, and I thought it was weird he wasn't at work, but he said Dad had given him the day off for his birthday. I thought that was bullshit, but I didn't press it. I didn't know what to look for. He kept smiling at me and…"

He stopped for a minute and swallowed hard. I resisted saying anything because I knew he wasn't done.

"He was really happy with my present. It was some compilation CD I'd found with, like, the world's greatest rock guitar riffs. When we left, he said he was going home to play it right away and that he'd see me for dinner. I wished him a happy birthday again, and he hugged me and told me he loved me, and I just… didn't register any of it."

"Did he say that a lot? That he loved you?"

"Enough. Enough that I didn't think it was too weird. It was his birthday, after all." He paused. "I'd ditched school already before lunch and when it lasted longer, I mean, I had no intentions of going back anyway, so I walked around and then swung by the park for a while and decided that I could just hang out with Michael instead before we went to dinner. I knocked, but the CD was playing and I figured he hadn't heard me. And I was happy he was playing it, so I was just… completely oblivious. I knew where the spare key was so I let myself in, and I was shouting over the music, but he didn't answer me.

"I remember that I went to the fridge and got a Coke and sat down by the table… but he wasn't coming out, and so I went to look for him. Maybe he was in the shower."

He said that so innocently. I was already anticipating what was coming, and my heart was breaking for Tyler.

"I could have flushed the toilet and made the water run cold," he chuckled and shook his head. "God, I was so stupid."

"You weren't stupid, Tyler."

He ignored that.

"He wasn't in the shower, and his bedroom door was closed. That usually meant there was a chick in there with him, so I was gonna turn around, but something made me open the door." He closed his eyes.

"Tyler…" I had no idea what I was going to say. That he didn't need to tell me? He obviously needed to tell someone. I just didn't want him to feel like he had to say this if he didn't want to.

"I didn't get it at first. Like my brain wouldn't kick in, it wouldn't process what I was seeing. His apartment was unfinished, like with the exposed beams and pipes and shit. Industrial, but the ceilings were normal height…"

"Oh, Jesus."

"He was just… it didn't look real. It couldn't have been. It was horrible."

I put my hand on his chest and rubbed gently. It wouldn't help anything, but he'd know I was there.

"You see shit like that in movies, you know? You think you know what happens." He closed his eyes again and his head shook back and forth slowly. "It's nothing like that."

I really didn't want to ask. Like, really didn't want to. "He… hung himself?"

"Yeah. I mean he'd obviously researched it—I don't think it was spontaneous that day—he knew what to do." He stopped there and I could see him recalling it; it was right there as he stared up at the ceiling.

"What did you do?" I asked, almost whispering.

My hand hadn't left his chest and his landed on top of it, his fingers curling around mine.

He shook his head. "I didn't do anything. I just stood there. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't call anyone, and I couldn't move. He was just dangling there. I wasn't stupid, I knew he was dead. It was obvious. His face was getting all purple and his tongue…" he broke off, his voice breaking.

My fingers tightened in his.

He took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "It just… I couldn't move. The phone was on the nightstand, but that would have meant going around him and I couldn't. I didn't want to."

He was crying again, but the tears were just rolling off of his face, and these were angrier tears. They didn't stop him from talking. "And I was so mad at myself because I didn't get him down or didn't try CPR, even though it would have been useless. I still wish I would have tried, but I don't think… I couldn't have looked at his face—that was not my brother.

"I don't really remember calling anyone. I must have used the phone in the kitchen, and I remember them telling me to stay calm and that they were sending someone and that I could stop screaming. I remember thinking how fucking stupid they sounded telling me to stay calm. What the fuck was I supposed to be calm for? My brother just hung himself. I didn't think that warranted calm.

"Some paramedic had me sit at the table in the kitchen as they went back to the bedroom. I think I was supposed to stay there, but I was at the fucking bedroom again and I watched them take him down and wound up puking all over the floor. I know I must have told them my name and all that, but I don't really… I was just numb.

"My father showed up a little while later. The paramedics or police or whoever kept asking me if he'd been depressed. What the fuck did it matter anymore? I'd been the last one to see him alive and they wanted a chain of events or something to determine if it was a suicide." He chuckled humorlessly. "He was dead, what did any of that matter? It wasn't like you could ask him anymore."

"My father kept asking me if he'd said anything at lunch because he hadn't left a note, and I wanted so badly to be able to tell him something, anything, tell all of them, but there wasn't anything. Sometimes I think my father blames me—that I hadn't noticed anything was off, or that he said something and I missed the sign, or that he'd cried out for help or some bullshit and I dismissed it or whatever."

"Tyler, I don't know your dad, but I'm sure he doesn't think that."

"Yeah, you don't know my dad."

Well, that was a topic we weren't raising today.

"Were you mad at him?"

"At my dad?"

"At Michael."

"I didn't feel anything. I couldn't feel. I wasn't angry at the funeral. Or, I dunno, maybe I was angry all along. The wake was a fucking joke. They're never for the person who died; they're for the family. Most of the people there weren't even talking about Michael. The casket couldn't be open because he was all…" he faltered and then continued, "no one could say goodbye. The ones who were talking about Michael said the same fucking things: that he was such a happy person, that he was the last person they'd think would do _this_. _This_—like they couldn't even say it. There was no reason to mince words; he fucking killed himself, what was there to whisper about? And he obviously couldn't have been that happy if he hung himself, could he?

"My mother just completely fell apart, and my father was just present and unemotional. Like it was a fucking board meeting he was forced to attend. I don't think Caroline even remembers much of it, which is good. She doesn't need to remember Michael that way."

He took a breath, and I could tell he was trying to control the anger. "Everything was fake. I didn't know most of them, and I know they didn't really know Michael at all. But they were all sorry. So sorry. I thought it was so fucking ironic how fake it was, because I think Michael killed himself because he didn't want to be something he wasn't, he didn't want to be fake.

"And yeah, I was mad at him, too. He could have just told my father to stick it. He could have just talked to me. He could have done so many other things, and there's just no sense in any of it. Nothing made sense. It still doesn't. And I can't think of other shit that I could have done. There weren't any signs. I still can't find any, no matter how many times I go over it.

"I became obsessed with the idea that maybe he'd started and then didn't want to finish it, but it was too late because he couldn't get any leverage, and that he died there, slowly strangling for who knows how long, and if I would have just skipped the walk and the park, maybe I could have stopped him. They didn't do an autopsy—I wish they would have—at least then I would have known if he wanted to stop and couldn't have."

"I don't think that makes it any better, Tyler."

"No, but I'd know. I'd know that he changed his mind." His voice broke again. "If he didn't change his mind, I don't know what to do with that. Then he left me alone on purpose. Then I didn't know my brother at all."

He rolled back into me and I held him again, and Jesus fucking Christ, we were a pair. I wasn't sure what was worse: my background or his. Both were completely fucked up. And we had the scars to prove it.

And this was so fresh for him, even after six years, like he just couldn't deal with it at all, couldn't have any kind of closure. What closure was there to have?

I guess I wasn't any different. Maybe I just buttoned shit up better than he did. He did, though—this wasn't something that most people knew. It was just always there, under the surface of him. To everyone else, I'm sure he seemed happy enough. Smart and well-read, and moody because he read worldly books and shit. Because he knew shit. I don't think most people knew he was completely and totally haunted by his brother's suicide.

I was kind of proud that I did, that I knew. That he shared it with me.

And obviously there were times he needed to let it out. Maybe he never really had.

He pulled back after a while, sniffing and wiping away the remaining tears. "I'm really sorry."

"For what?"

"Dumping all of this on you. I didn't mean to do that. I didn't come here to just unload everything."

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad you did," I said.

He looked confused. "Why?"

I shrugged. "I think… I dunno, I understand you better. Or it just gives me a bigger picture. And we have so much more in common than we think. Not that I know what losing a brother is like, but just…"

"What?"

I was careful with how I answered. "We don't come from the same places, but we've both had really fucked up things happen in our lives."

"What happened in yours?" he asked.

I shook my head and ran my hand over his cheek. "Another night."

It's not that I didn't want him to know. In some ways, having him know my whole story would make things easier, too. I felt like I understood him so much better with just this one piece of information—things fell into place, they made sense. I'm sure, for him, it would be the same when I told him about my past.

My past was really something else entirely, though. I felt like we had more in common than I thought at the start, but my past could still be the thing that made him finally throw in the towel. Being haunted by a dead brother wasn't really the same as a past that included whoring for money.

Hopefully he wouldn't see it that way. Or, if he did, he'd see where I was now and not my past. I liked this with him. I liked the way it made me feel. I liked the way that it was easy and there were no expectations. I wouldn't like giving it up.

"Thank you. For everything tonight," he said quietly.

"Thank you for telling me."

He was just watching me then. Like he had something else to say but didn't know how to say it. His voice was quiet when he did. "Can I kiss you?"

I didn't answer, I just leaned closer and he met me the rest of the way. I wasn't following my own rules, but I couldn't seem to care at the moment. I wanted to kiss him just as much as he wanted to kiss me. I hadn't wanted to kiss someone in a long time. Kissing was too personal, too intimate—it wasn't something you allowed a random fuck to do. Or at least, it wasn't something I allowed. Kissing was off limits to johns. It made things messy, crossed too many lines, made assholes think they were getting more than what they really were.

It was never like this. Even when some asshole snuck one or forced one, it was never like this. I couldn't remember how much we kissed in his apartment that day, but it wasn't like this either. I hadn't cared then, and I hadn't really cared in the alley, either. There was nothing behind it for me, no matter how good a kisser I thought he was. This. This was nothing like any of those. And maybe it was just because I was actually in it, I actually gave a shit, felt something.

Tyler's lips were so soft, and he was so gentle—like he'd break my lips if he pressed too hard. His lips just barely touched mine, just once, and then he backed away. It was like he never kissed me at all. Our bodies were close but not touching, and without his lips against mine, it felt incredibly lonely all of a sudden. I moved my lips toward his again and he met me again, pressing just as gently but leaving them there longer, and I broke another rule: never close your eyes. That was a sure way to fuck up your shit.

If you closed your eyes, you were reckless and completely unprotected. You left yourself wide open for getting rolled or fucking stabbed or fucked in the ass, whatever. It was just not good business. I knew Tyler wasn't like that, there was nothing here for him to steal or fuck me over for, but that didn't make this any less terrifying. He was working his way in, and I liked it way too much.

The kiss was the same gentle pressing, longer, but he backed away again, and when I opened my eyes his opened, too, and he smiled at me. Fuck. He had to smile. All open and fucking vulnerable himself, just poured his whole goddamn story to me, what haunted him, and it was like he was as scared of this as I was.

He didn't make any move toward me again and he seemed very careful, like he was hesitating a little. His brow furrowed. "Is this ok?"

Fuck yeah. I mean, terrified, but yeah.

"Yeah," I said, nodding, pressing my lips against his again.

I wanted the feel of them again, the fullness, the heat. He pulled back for a second and I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his lips moving back to mine again, and this time, fucking this time, he parted his lips and took my top lip between his, and fucking hell, I think my heart was trying to beat out of my chest. I wondered if he could feel it, if his was beating like that, too. Was that normal? Was that supposed to happen? All I could think was that I wanted more of it.

He stayed close to me again, pulling back, and took my bottom lip between his. This was so addicting, the warmth of his lips, the way my stomach kept fluttering when he pulled my lip in between his, the feeling of his stubble above his upper lip scraping over the top of my lip. It made it tingle, the roughness of his stubble, the wetness of his mouth. His forehead pressed against mine and I sighed as he backed off to just the gentle pressing again, his breathing slow and even and hot against my face. His eyes were closed.

He looked tired when he opened his eyes, his forehead stayed pressed to mine. His voice was quiet, breathy. "Was that ok?"

"Yeah." I nodded slowly against his head.

"I like kissing you."

I smiled. "I like kissing you, too."

He smiled back and his eyes fluttered closed.

"You can sleep here," I said quietly a second later, and I just about wanted to crawl under the bed—where the fuck else was he gonna sleep? He was already in my fucking bed and halfway there. That was so fucking stupid.

He smiled gently, though, like it wasn't the stupidest thing I'd said all night. "Thanks."

I watched his eyes close again and he fell asleep really fast. I wasn't surprised, he'd been tired all night, all the stored up shit with his brother being poured out all at once. I knew how tiring all that could be. I wasn't tired exactly, my whole body sort of humming from the kisses. It was so different from anything I'd experienced, so much better.

And he was totally fucking sleeping in my bed. Like, there were a lot of firsts tonight that he'd knocked out. People never told me shit. I never had friends or anyone who actually trusted me with shit like he'd told me tonight. And physically, no one had ever been this close to me since Jeremy. Not in this way. And Jeremy hadn't gotten the chance to get to this stage. Even though Jeremy and I had been heavier in the sex shit, this seemed… deeper. There was more going on here than there had been with Jeremy.

In a lot of ways, I trusted Tyler more, but I knew more about Tyler in the time we'd known each other than I had with Jeremy. I was so young then. It felt like such a long time ago. So much had happened since then. And Jeremy and I had never shared a bed. I'd never willingly shared a bed with a guy for just me… or him… or us. This was us. We were an 'us,' I think. I think this qualified as an 'us.'

Fuck. I wasn't sure what to do with that. But I liked having him here. I liked him in my bed. I liked the heat of him next to me. The… I dunno… security? And I was the one who invited him here—he hadn't asked to sleep in my bed, this was just where it'd seemed like the best place to comfort him. And I had done that, hadn't I?

I felt like _so _much happened in just the last few hours, like everything shifted yet stayed the same, too. Like he and I were no different, yet everything had changed between us. He trusted me with this huge thing and completely broke down, and I was able to help him pick up all the pieces and… there was touching, lots of nonsexual touching, and we kissed, and he was sleeping in my bed, and holy fucking hell. It was a lot. But I think… I think I was dealing with it ok. It felt ok. Good even.

I hadn't fallen asleep to _good_ in a long fucking time.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

Blog: http:/htf-wtrm(dot)blogspot(dot)com/


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten  
**

* * *

**Chapter Ten Playlist: http(colon)/pl(dot)st/p/23329932555  
**

* * *

**TPOV**

I wasn't sure if I should have been more relieved or embarrassed by the fact that I'd shown up at Allison's apartment and basically fallen apart right in her fucking doorway.

I couldn't really classify it, but I think the fact that I'd told her this huge chunk of my past, this part of me that I kept hidden from most people—and the thing that haunted me most—that it somehow evened the playing field. Like that one singular moment where I'd admitted my own weakness was the last cog that needed to be shifted for her to trust me completely—or, if not completely, at least more than she did everyone else.

If I was totally honest with myself, I couldn't let go of Michael's death. It just ate at me, and I didn't have an answer as to why, I just knew that it did. It stayed with me. Every day. And it was more than just me finding him, of that image being engrained forever, it was the why—it was my father; it was just everything.

But waking up in her bed the next morning, it was one of the lightest I'd felt since walking into his apartment all those years ago. Six years of weight that seemed lighter with just one night with her. A night where we had done absolutely nothing but talked, or nothing but me talking and her just listening, and a few kisses that were so chaste I couldn't recall a time when I'd kissed a girl so softly.

I knew there was something in her past she was hiding from me just like I'd hidden Michael's death from her. She solidified that much when she said we had more in common than we thought. It wasn't loss like I'd lost Michael, but it was something like that, something that had been taken from her. Her telling me was too much for that one night, but I hoped that my breakdown—because that's basically what it fucking was; it'd just reached a point where I couldn't hold onto it all anymore—would give her the assurance she needed that she could tell me whatever she needed to, as well.

She was normally very nonphysical—I could count the number of times she touched me since that night in the alley when I nearly fucked everything up on one hand, and they'd all been very recent—so even I was surprised when she held me. I couldn't bring myself to be that ashamed about crying on her then either. Her hands felt incredibly good and soothing and comforting, and exactly what I needed. I wanted to feel her little hands on me all the time, and it was like the absence of them now that I'd felt them was almost worse than never feeling them at all.

I knew things had to be slow, though. I knew that sex with her was a topic that had some sort of huge warning sign over it, and that her past was most likely involved in that. I knew that she didn't do the dating thing and that a lot of the shit we were doing was new to her. I thought she handled everything that came along pretty well if she was that sheltered or afraid or whatever. She acclimated to things well, or just hid the fact that she was struggling with it really well.

I'd debated and berated and fought with myself ever since the first date about what our first kiss would be or should be. I wanted to kiss her on the very first date—that awkward and strange yet completely enlivening and delightful evening—but I knew she wouldn't handle that well, or thought I'd be asking for something I wasn't. So I kept holding off, wondering and waiting when that time was right, and it hadn't come until that night. The opportunity had been there plenty of times, but it just never seemed like the right moment. It was quiet and dark and comfortable and easy, and that moment after I'd asked, I knew it had been the perfect time because she was in a position where I thought she felt… strong, or not strong, just… needed or helpful—the whole evened playing field thing—I think she thought or felt that we'd been on par and equal with one another, and so asking for the kiss, and kissing her, was mutual. It was something she wanted as much as I did right then.

I won't lie and say I didn't want more, because I did. I wanted to erase every bad experience she'd had—whatever made her apprehensive and wary about physical shit—in one night. Not that I'd be, like, the fucking great white hope of sex or something, but just… I wanted to make it up to her; I wanted to make up for all the shitheads who had made her feel that way. I wanted to show her that the physical side of relationships didn't have to be one-sided, but she wasn't ready for that.

She was into the kiss, she wanted more of it, her lips were soft and completely addicting from the second mine pressed to hers. It was amazing how much those few… They couldn't be called platonic, there was too fucking much flowing through me to make them anything other than romantic, but it was so gentle, so affectionate and intimate that, shit, the amount of everything that was poured into it…

At the same time, whether she knew it or not, her body wasn't angled at all toward mine. Or it had been to start, but she was pulling away the longer we kissed, like her head subconsciously knew that she wasn't ready for anything else. So I backed the kisses off again and went back to the barely-there ones instead of deepening them more. I don't think she was disappointed at all, I think the level we got to had been fine with her for the first time, but I also don't think she realized that she'd been moving away the whole time.

It was difficult to know sometimes with her because she was up-front and mouthy and then shy and bashful and all nervous and shit. That was both a good and bad thing, because really, I wasn't an adult. If I was all about honesty at the moment, I didn't have responsibility for much. I didn't have to be the one to make the big decisions or the choices, but it was sort of liberating in an odd way to know that I had to do that when it came to her. To know when her head was saying yes but her body was saying no, or vice versa. Or to just know to slow the fuck down and not do what my dick was telling me.

When I woke up in the morning, I realized that we were both unintentional cuddlers. I remembered falling asleep with only our foreheads touching, and when I woke up I was all twined with her and her hand was on my chest, and I let out the longest fucking sigh of my life. I wanted that hand there all the time; I never wanted her to move it. And I was pissed at the same time because I knew the minute she woke it'd be gone and she'd probably, kinda freak. Even though we'd slept in the same bed and had this rather large leap in intimacy, waking this way was probably gonna be too much for her, and I didn't want that to happen. I thought we'd gotten to a great place and I didn't want this to fuck it up. So I tried to be as careful as I could, to back up and give us some distance, but I couldn't bring myself to move her hand. I made sure that our bodies weren't totally touching, but the hand stayed where she'd left it.

She was adorable when she woke, and I found that was something I wanted to see all the time, too. I could happily wake up every morning to see that. She was a slow riser, shifting and pressing her head into the pillow and dozing before she actually ever woke completely. Her hair fell over her face and I couldn't resist moving the strands, gently pushing it back behind her ear. Her face pressed into my hand while she was still half-sleeping, and I smiled when she settled again. I dozed for a while, and when I woke fully she was gone. Her side of the bed was still warm, so she hadn't been gone long, and I could smell coffee brewing on my way to the bathroom. I wasn't really taking a lot in, but it had the smallest fucking shower I'd ever seen.

I hadn't intended on meeting the roommate on my way out.

"Mornin', lover boy," she said, smirking.

"Hey… Jordan."

"Have a nice night?"

Well she obviously had the wrong idea, but I couldn't blame her. I was in my shorts and a t-shirt, and I had to come from somewhere because the couch hadn't been slept on. I also wasn't going to get into it with her about why nothing had really happened last night.

I cleared my throat. "Uhm… it was nice, yeah."

She snorted. "Nice, huh?"

"It's not like that."

"Uh huh."

"Really."

"Sure," she said, winking at me. She didn't press it and went back to her own room, so I let it go for now. If Allison wanted to have the discussion with her later, that wasn't my business.

Allison was sitting on the couch with her mug propped on her knees when I came out. "Hey," she said quietly, "there's coffee. I think you know where the cups are."

"Thanks," I said back and headed for the kitchen.

It was always sort of a gamble how things would go—I hadn't known if she was going to acknowledge the previous night or not. I hadn't really thought we'd discuss the kissing, but I dunno…

I mulled over how to really approach the entire subject while I poured the coffee, and I didn't really have a definitive plan by the time I made it back to the living room. I sat down next to her on the couch and nearly burned my tongue on the fucking coffee. I risked a glance at her, but she seemed completely nonchalant and just cool with everything.

We sat there in relative silence for a few minutes before I jumped headlong into the conversation with the brilliant: "So, your roommate thinks we slept together last night."

Allison turned her head toward me slowly as I was berating myself internally already for that completely lame and stupid start.

She smirked. "We did sleep together last night."

"Yes, but she thinks we did a lot more than sleep." She turned her head back to the TV and I just kept the verbal drivel going. "I didn't correct her."

Her head swiveled again. "It's cool." And the head was back to the TV. "She'll ask me about it later anyway. I can tell her then."

I sort of choked on my coffee and she looked at me. "I didn't mean I'd tell her about your brother," she assured me, and I nodded thankfully while wiping coffee off of my chin. "I just meant that I'd set her straight. It doesn't matter anyway, she's not gonna tell anyone or whatever. There's no one to tell."

"No," I backpedaled, "I just meant that I didn't really know what to say to her. I mean… Fuck." I ran my hand over my face. "God, I don't know what I meant."

She was smirking when I sighed and looked at her again. "It's cool, Tyler."

Why was she handling this so much better than I was? I was the one who was supposed to be all cool and collected and helping to avoid her freak out over the cuddling and shit, and… ugh. I sighed again and looked into the coffee cup like it could give me all the answers on how to regain my cool.

"Thanks again for listening to me last night," I said—probably not the way to regain the cool.

"You're welcome. Thanks for, I dunno, trusting me with it."

I didn't look over at her; the coffee was much easier to talk to in this instance. "I liked kissing you," I followed with—so not the way to regain the cool—epic cool fail.

I risked a glance in her direction just out of the corner of my eye. She was smiling into her own cup of coffee. "I liked it, too. It was nice."

Nice was good.

Nice was awesome.

I loved nice.

"I was thinking maybe I could take you out to dinner tonight. Someplace nice. Wherever you wanna go. To thank you for last night."

She was still smiling. "You don't have to do that. I didn't do it for that."

"I know. I still want to."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I dunno, where do you wanna go?"

"I'm not picky, Tyler."

"Allison," I warned. "I want you to have a nice dinner."

She chuckled. "It's not about the favorites thing. Why do you want to take me to dinner?"

"Because," I said as I shrugged, "that's just… what you do when you want to thank someone. You take them somewhere nice, or… whatever." I waved my hand.

She _hmm-ed_ and I looked over at her. "So, like… I should dress up?" She looked slightly nervous about that.

At least there wasn't an argument.

"No, just normal. I'll figure it out."

I needed to get her something other than dinner, though. Maybe a present—something that wouldn't make her freak out about that, either. So jewelry was probably out, or she'd think I was saying something I wasn't. Fuck, maybe I'd ask Jordan. Low-key restaurant was better. And the present, the totally-noncommittal-but-I'm-thanking-you present.

It was sort of strange how the morning progressed. I thought it would be awkward or something, but it wasn't. We didn't really talk about anything else, but we hung out on the couch for a while before getting ready for the day. I had to be at work at ten, so I got dressed while she showered. I figured that would be the only time I'd get Jordan alone, so I rapped on her door quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, it's Tyler. Can I ask you something?"

The door literally flew open and I backed up a step when she was suddenly _right there_. "Depends."

"Ok." She didn't say anything else, so I thought that meant I could ask. "Uhm… I want to get something for Allison. A thank you gift."

"As in 'thanks for a really great night' gift?" She leaned against the doorframe, smirking.

I furrowed my brow. "No. Something else." That was not her fucking business.

She didn't say anything. I stuck my hands in my pockets, starting to think this was a really bad idea, but I wasn't gonna tell her what happened last night. I cleared my throat while she stared at me.

"Yeah, so, I have no idea what to get her. I thought maybe you would have an idea."

She studied me for a minute before answering, back to flippant and sarcastic. "What do you get the girl that has nothing…" she mused to herself for a second before looking back at me. "New sheets?"

It wasn't the sarcasm—I could deal with that—it wasn't the teasing either, because I was a big boy and I could handle being teased, too. It was just the appraising way she said everything, like I was constantly being judged. And I got that, too, really—I mean I knew she didn't know me at all. Her view of me was probably pretty shitty at the moment because I'd fucked her friend over and stalked her and shit. But… I thought in the last few weeks I'd at least shown I wasn't a complete dick. I was coming to her, too, asking for her help. It wasn't like I came out of the bedroom with a big smile on my face and smacked her on the ass, bragging about what a good lay her roommate was. I thought I was being decent.

I understood why she was doing it all—she was protecting her friend—and it was obvious that if I had been a complete dick, Allison probably would have needed someone to watch out for her like this. So I tried to keep my frustration under control.

I smiled gently instead. "She doesn't need new sheets. Her sheets are completely clean, or if they aren't, it wasn't me, and it wasn't last night."

"Uh huh."

"Nothing happened."

"Ok, lover boy. We'll go with that for now."

Yes. We would. 'Cause it was the truth.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Right, so… any ideas?"

Hey, I was getting my answer here. I would not be deterred, no matter how annoying she got.

She smirked again. "Well, Allison's not big on stuff. Never has been."

"Ok."

"You should get the girl a wallet."

"What? A wallet?" _That_ was the grand suggestion I'd been waiting for? A _wallet_?

"Yeah, a wallet. Because she constantly has cash, ya know, stripper and all? And she never has anywhere to put it, so she just stuffs it in her pockets. It's stupid. And dangerous. Girl needs a wallet."

"A wallet," I repeated, dazed. And annoyed that I'd actually asked her, gotten up the nerve and put up with her shit, and then… a wallet.

"Yeah, lover boy, a wallet. What good would getting her some stupid trinket or something be? What's she gonna do with that?" She shrugged and didn't seem to appreciate my lack of enthusiasm over this gift suggestion and promptly closed the door in my face. If I hadn't already been dazed and annoyed, I might have taken offense to that.

I think I literally stood there in the hall for several minutes trying to digest what Jordan had just said. Then realized I was really fucking stupid because this was not an average girl, and yeah, I was coming at this at the wrong direction entirely. I walked back to Allison's room and sat down on the edge of the bed and just took a look around the room. I hadn't had a chance to do that last night, and it hadn't really even registered that I was in her room and could have taken advantage of the information that was just sitting out here for me.

The room was small, but not super tiny. The walls were white and bare with some paint and plaster peeling in places—that was par for the course in this area of New York. Her bedroom seemed to fare better than other rooms of the apartment. The kitchen was tiny and the living room was an average-ish size. I had no idea what Jordan's bedroom was like, but the bathroom was small and the shower had to have been made only for people Allison's size. The peeling plaster and paint in Allison's room was more prominent in the other rooms of the place, and there were water spots in a lot of the rooms. I wondered if the roof leaked. The whole apartment was fairly large for Hell's Kitchen, though. Places in New York that weren't super-swank and expensive all kinda looked the same, but this apartment was a little worse for the wear. I'd have to ask her at some point what rent was like in this place, because for the size I would have thought it'd been astronomical, even with the condition.

The bed took up a corner in her bedroom, and she had one up on me because she had a bed frame, and there was the usual shit you find in bedrooms: dresser, lamp, mirror, nightstand, bookcase. The dresser was old and secondhand, paint worn and wood dented; truthfully, it looked a lot like Aidan's, and we were no strangers to secondhand furniture—I refused to even entertain the idea of asking Aidan where he'd acquired our couch; I was sure it was a place that I didn't want to know. There was an old wooden framed armchair in one of the other corners that she obviously used for storage instead of sitting. It was a blaringly loud red-orange color, and from the small section not being utilized by the crap on it, it had a distinctly disgusting 1970s patterned design on the seat with colors that were never meant to go together. It was a very odd piece of furniture stylistically, but it was certainly eye-popping.

I think I was less thinking about an idea for a gift anymore and just trying to get more of an idea of the girl herself.

I wandered over to the beat up bookcase because I was a book person and maybe our taste in books was similar. That'd be a potential gift idea. Her books didn't seem to have a theme; I couldn't narrow down one thing she liked over another except for the recipe books. She seemed to have the largest number of those, all different kinds, like she collected any kind of recipe she could get her hands on. There was other random crap on the bookshelf, but it wasn't my room, and I didn't want to invade her privacy and look beyond that.

She had a lot of candles all over, most half burnt and obviously well used, all over the room—the dresser, the nightstand, the bookshelf. The last corner by the closet had a long, cylindrical object that I finally deduced was a rain stick, and it seemed an odd item given the other stuff in her room.

Used. Everything in the room was used. Nothing looked new. The bedspread was hideous, not accounting for taste, and clashed completely with the armchair, but at least they both had a 70s vibe going.

So… she liked recipes and candles, and throwing articles of clothing and other various shit on chairs. Other than that, her room had very few personal touches.

Even her room was hard to read.

I may have thought that the wallet idea was impersonal and stupid when Jordan suggested it, but looking around, she wasn't a student, she wasn't a kid, she didn't have a career path, and hobbies weren't strewn around the room. The room was functional—tiny personal touches, but mostly functional. Getting into the mind of a stripper—not an easy task—and practical was key. Jordan was right. A wallet was functional and useful and served a purpose, it solved a problem that Jordan perceived Allison to have. She didn't seem like the purse type, and it made more sense that she'd like to have her cash on her, protected. And for someone who dealt in cash only, it was really kinda perfect.

It just didn't seem to scream 'thank you' to me.

I sat there racking my brain for something else and tried to figure out what I'd get a non-stripper if I were trying to find a gift for them instead. If I was dating some undergrad instead, what would I have gotten her? I probably would have known infinitely more about the undergrad by this time and would have had more to go on. I would have known about her hobbies and habits; didn't have that luxury here. I could have tried to be thoughtful and shit, or I could have copped out and bought her flowers.

Flowers.

A functional, useful, no-frills girl who just happened to also be a stripper probably rarely got flowers. I wondered if she'd like that kind of gift or would have the attitude that they had an expiration date and really served no purpose whatsoever. I wanted her to know that I was grateful for what she'd done for me last night. And to me, the flowers weren't really about their limited timeframe.

I didn't really know Allison—still—after spending a significant amount of time with her, but small things were making themselves known.

I jumped when she came back into the room and looked appropriately guilty, although I hadn't really done anything to feel guilty for. I hadn't snooped, just… I wanted a peak into her life, the parts she wouldn't tell me, the parts about _her_.

She smirked at me. "Find anything worth stealing?"

I chuckled. "Nah. I haven't cased the bathroom yet, but there might be something in there to steal. Some cough medicine or Sudafed that I can make methamphetamines with."

"Knock yourself out." She gestured in that direction. "Bathroom's all yours if you wanna shower or whatever."

"No, I gotta get to work. If I don't leave now I'll be late." I pivoted around her, realizing that this was probably rather awkward for her given that I was forcing this conversation because I'd been in her bedroom and she was standing there in only a towel. It was also distracting. I needed to go to work. Work, yes.

"Ok, so… I'll see you tonight, then. I'll come by at… When should I be here?"

"Uhm, well, I work tonight. Until ten."

"Oh." Well that put a slight crimp in my plans.

"I mean, is that… too late for dinner?"

"You wanna go to dinner after?"

"Is that bad?"

"No. That's fine. I just didn't know if you'd wanna go that late. That's fine." That probably sounded just as desperate as I imagined it did, but she smiled, so it must not have been that bad.

"Ok. So, I'll see you here at ten-thirty-ish? Eleven?"

"Yeah, I'll be here. Then." I shifted on my feet for a second, debating. I really wanted to kiss her goodbye, but advancing on her in the towel, I didn't know how she'd take that. So I'm pretty sure I moved really slowly, so she either thought I was coming in for the world's slowest kiss, or I was shit at surprise if it was something else.

She stayed completely still, like her feet were glued to the carpet. She had one hand holding the towel together where she had it folded over and the other was fidgeting with end where it met her upper thigh. Christ, her legs were sexy.

I didn't get too close—I thought that'd make her uncomfortable. I leaned in carefully and her eyes were glued to my mouth, so she wanted it, too. She got a little impatient when I was closer and she leaned into the kiss, but it was still soft, and I made it short. She let out this little exhale when I pulled back, like there was a sigh laced in there, and all I wanted to do was do it again—and then kick the door shut and unwrap her from the towel and lay her out all over the bed—but I forced myself to step back and keep moving until I got out of her apartment.

I wasn't even sure I said goodbye, actually, but I didn't trust my voice, and I didn't trust myself to actually stop if I didn't leave.

Fuck. 

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: http:/wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

Blog: http:/htf-wtrm(dot)blogspot(dot)com/ 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

Chapter Eleven Playlist: http(colon)/pl(dot)st/p/23335780107

* * *

**APOV**

This was bad.

So bad.

All I thought about in the hours since I'd last seen Tyler was how much I wanted him to kiss me again, how much I wanted to feel his lips brush mine, and feel him take my lip between his, and his stubbly upper lip scratch against my lip, and run my cheek along the stubble on his, and… fuck.

So bad.

I could still feel it tingle in my lips, could still feel the warmth of his lips on mine if I closed my eyes, could still feel the heat from his breath on my face. I could still feel his forehead pressed to mine and how much warmer the bed was with him sleeping next to me.

I wondered if that was normal and figured I'd have to ask Jordan again. She was rapidly becoming my link to the dating world and what was normal and what was not. I was happy that she'd told me, so far, most of the shit I felt or thought was normal. That had to count for something, mean something. I wondered if it would be weird for me to ask him to sleep over again and just… sleep.

That was probably not as normal.

He was so patient. His lips were so patient. I don't think he realized how much that meant to me. And I knew he was holding himself back—I could feel it—but he hadn't pushed anything yet, and I didn't think he was going to.

I had almost two hours to kill before I had to be at work and I couldn't think of anything else. And it was totally gonna fuck up my time on stage tonight. I was just not in the right mindset. I could normally focus on just… nothing. When I was on stage I wasn't Allison anymore; I became whoever I needed to be—whatever they wanted. I wasn't going to be able to do that thinking about Tyler kissing me all fucking night.

I was edgy and completely distracted and tense, and all I really wanted to do was get off. Maybe that'd make me stop thinking about Tyler and his goddamn lips.

And… shit.

I was edgy and distracted and wanted to get off, and Tyler was the fucking reason. That wasn't bad, I don't think, it was just… I'd never been restless over a guy before. Of course, I hadn't kissed any guys in two years, and before that it was policy that I didn't kiss them.

Fuck it. I needed to get off.

Whatever the reason Tyler was making me all anxious for, at least getting off would take the edge off, calm me down. I shut my door and grabbed my vibrator from the nightstand drawer, kicking off my pants and underwear before lying on the bed.

Usually I just grabbed the lube and the vibrator and I buzzed myself to coming. I'd turn it on and run it over my clit before pushing it inside me and I'd get off in no time, take the edge off, and pick up the rest of my day. Sometimes I'd use my fingers on my clit while I pushed the vibrator in and out, and it'd take longer to come, almost better that way. I could just stop thinking and focus on the way it felt, and for a few minutes everything went away.

I figured that this would go the same way.

Only it started out completely different when I went for the lube and realized I didn't need it; I was already wet, and that rarely happened. It had to be Tyler's kiss—or me thinking about Tyler's kiss—didn't it? What else would make me wet? I didn't usually get usually turned on by specific things.

I pushed the vibrator in, moaning at the first feel of the hum. I loved the first sensation—the feeling of fullness, the way I could control the speed of entry, the way my clit tickled, and how my pussy tightened up. Being turned on already made pushing it inside so much easier; almost like I wanted it more, like my body was more into the whole thing. I couldn't believe how much _better_ the vibrator felt this way, how much more responsive my body was when I moved it inside of me slowly, how much different the sensations were, and how I could feel them at completely different points inside me—like I'd never felt them there before.

And something happened that never had before: I started thinking about Tyler and the way he kissed me, and my pussy tightened, and my whole body tightened with it, and I was so close to coming, but I stopped myself. I think part of me was scared. It came on so fast and hard that I backed off, almost afraid to let it happen.

But it felt so fucking good that I pulled the vibrator almost all the way out and pushed it back in, my fingers moved to my clit, and it was like the buildup never ended. I just picked it up again and my body was ready to come right away. So I didn't stop it that time, I just let it happen, thinking about Tyler's lips on mine and in other places, and coming was so powerful that I felt lightheaded.

I was out of breath and all hot and sweaty, and Jesus fucking Christ, if that was just me and the vibrator, what would it be like with him?

I lay there for a while, cooling down and feeling my heartbeat slow down with it, and tried to make sense of everything—my feelings and what that really meant. I wasn't stupid. I knew that Tyler affected me, that I was attracted to him, and he obviously turned me on a whole fucking lot. And that… feeling—the way I felt about him—it was… different. New. I'd never reacted to a guy like that before. Jeremy had to work to get me aroused, make me come. This was almost easy.

It felt so good, and it made me feel… something else—like my mind and body were on the same page. I didn't really know what to call that.

I liked it, though.

He knocked on the door at exactly ten forty-five—halfway between the times we decided on. I didn't know why, but that made me smile for some reason.

I opened the door and he had something behind his back, like he was hiding it.

"Hi."

"Hi." He was smiling. "So… I wanted to get you something to thank you. And I racked my brain and I tried to get some idea from your room, and I dunno, this idea just came to me, and so I went with it and…"

I was kind of scared shitless. First, I didn't get presents. Second, what the fuck was he going to give me?

And this was completely unnecessary because he was already taking me to dinner to thank me, and that was unnecessary, too.

I never got presents. What did you do with…

He got me flowers. He pulled a humongous, like, the biggest bunch of flowers I'd ever seen in my life from behind his back and held them out to me.

I'm sure my mouth was open. In fact, I know it was because I was trying to talk, trying to think of something to say, and there was no sound coming out. I was so fucking shocked. And I didn't know what to do, so instead of doing anything, I just stood there, opening and closing my mouth and staring at all the colors of the flowers, and then looking at him in between.

His eyebrows were up and he was just kind of staring at me, and I didn't blame him, I mean… I didn't know what the fuck to do, and he didn't either, and it was just all fucking…

I needed to say something. Fucking soon.

"I…" I started.

I tried, I really did. And then I kinda wanted to cry. I just…

It was too much. He was so fucking nice, and he bought me flowers! Flowers! Real, live, not-plastic flowers! No one had ever bought me flowers before. Girls like me didn't get flowers.

I was seriously close to losing it. I tried to take a few deep breaths because I think he thought he'd done something wrong. I waved my hand a second, which I'm sure told him nothing, and just tried to calm the fuck down.

They were so pretty. So many colors.

I didn't know anything about flowers. I mean I knew roses and shit, but I had no idea what half of these were. They weren't just plain flowers, they were, like, exotic or something, and they were all arranged nice, and… the really big ones that were kinda star-shaped were my favorite—pink with darker pink spots on the inside and white on the outside with these delicate-looking things way at the middle.

So many different colors.

And they smelled so nice.

I never knew flowers were really this pretty. They always seemed so… stupid or something before. Something that died in a few days and were expensive, like they had no value beyond just sitting somewhere, but when someone gave them to me and I was actually holding them… I wanted to keep them forever.

"Hey," he said quietly, his hand reaching out slowly. I watched it like it was in slow motion as it was coming at my face. His thumb swiped over my cheek while his fingers curled around my face.

I leaned into his palm and I just… I didn't know what to say. I couldn't get anything out. And I hadn't even realized I was crying.

I finally just pulled back from him and he dropped his hand, his brow furrowing when I suddenly put the flowers down on the floor. He was still standing just outside the door because I'd been too shocked to even invite him in and shit.

I could read his face—he was going to start apologizing because he thought I was mad or something.

"No," I said, waving again, and fidgeted, debating a second before I basically launched myself into hugging him and threw my arms around his neck.

He let out this little noise—like pleased but surprised—and then his arms went around me, too, hugging me back.

I squeezed him as tight as I possibly could and turned my head enough that my mouth was right by his ear. "Thank you," I said, my voice all quiet and overwhelmed. I couldn't get anything else out, so I hoped this would be enough to tell him what I was feeling.

He chuckled a little. "Uhm, you're welcome. But it was to thank _you_."

I let go abruptly, because I wasn't sure how long a hug like that should last, and he let me go right away, his hands going to his pockets, but there was a smile on his face, and he dropped his head like he had something to be embarrassed about.

"Jesus, come in. I'm sorry. I was just… come in." I picked up my flowers and backed up into the apartment, letting him pass me. "Let me find something to put these in."

Ha—see, that was good! Flowers needed water. I knew this. I sounded normal! Not like I had a fucking vase around here or anything, but I could find a jar or something. No matter what they were in, they looked amazing.

I admired them for a minute before I realized I was standing there smiling like a complete fucking moron and he was just watching. Except when I realized and looked at him, he was just smiling, so I think he liked that I liked the flowers.

"Let me just… put these… I don't want Jordan stealing them, or killing them or anything," I said, grabbing my precious flowers and bouncing to my room.

My room looked so much brighter the minute they were in there and I couldn't stop smiling. My room was kinda dull, there wasn't a lot of color, or the colors were all faded, and the flowers made it seem so much lighter, happier. I loved them.

I sighed and touched one of the petals of the big star flowers. So soft and delicate. Amazing.

I felt all… I dunno. When I left my bedroom and walked back out to him, I couldn't describe it, but I found it really hard to look him in the eye. I dunno. I know I was acting kinda weird and nervous and I couldn't seem to make my lip come out from behind my teeth.

"The lady at the flower shop was great. I said I needed flowers that said thank you and she launched into this list of flowers that signified that, and it must have been my complete look of confusion and terror that made her take pity on me. I got to pick them out, though. She arranged them." He shrugged.

"They're really beautiful," I managed.

"I'm glad you like them."

I looked him in the eye. I thought he deserved to know. "I've never… No one's ever given me flowers before."

"What? Never?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"That's just… That's wrong." He looked kinda pissed for a second, but then it shifted to something else—nervousness, or caution.

I shrugged this time. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_." He cleared his throat. "I… actually have something else for you. I didn't know if you'd like the flowers or not—"

"How could I not like the flowers?"

How was that even possible? Who wouldn't love those?

"Well, in case you didn't, I actually… Jordan suggested it. I asked her before I left this morning, and after I thought about it it seemed like a really good idea, so…" He shrugged again and pulled something out of his jacket pocket, handing it to me.

God. It was fucking wrapped and everything. Fucking asked Jordan even?

And just like that I was almost crying again, but I forced it down because he'd already seen that once tonight.

I shook my head. "Tyler, I didn't… You don't have to thank me like this. Just saying 'thank you' was enough."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, it meant a lot to me. And I wanted to."

"Should I open it now?"

"Sure. I mean, whenever you want." He ran his hand through his hair. "I didn't think this one was as sincere or something, so…"

Ok, I was curious.

I slipped my finger under the paper and tried not to rip it to shit. Even the paper was beautiful—I wanted to save it.

It was small and black and leather. I turned it over and it had a snap on the front. I opened the snap and realized he'd gotten me a fucking wallet—three-fold with a place for cash and ID and cards and a zippered part for change in the back.

A motherfucking wallet.

He seemed nervous again, talking really fast and his hand constantly in his hair. "Jordan seemed to think you always have cash and never have anywhere to put it, so you just keep in your pockets and stuff and it gets unorganized and shit, and I figured she was probably right since you… get a lot of cash at work, and I thought it was kinda stupid at first, but it seemed like a really good idea then, 'cause you'd have someplace to put everything, and I dunno. If you don't like it we can take it back and you can get something else, or… And you don't have a favorite color, so I went with black 'cause it's neutral, and if you were somewhere shitty in town it wouldn't stick out, and… yeah." He stopped then and took a breath. "Yeah, so…"

He needed to stop this shit. Because he was rambling like I was somehow gonna be pissed or ungrateful or something, and… he was so goddamn thoughtful, even if Jordan had given him the original idea, and…

Jesus fucking Christ, where did this guy come from? And how the hell did he get attached to me?

I was gonna cry again. Goddamn it—I wasn't even a crier. I didn't cry. I was strong and mad. I just got mad. I didn't get hurt. Crying never solved anything.

But this was for such a different reason. I just didn't know what to do with any of it. And just when I thought I'd gotten somewhat of a handle, he went and fucked it up again, and I was all back to confused or surprised.

I swallowed really hard. "It's perfect."

"Yeah?"

I nodded.

"It's not stupid?"

I shook my head. I didn't trust my voice anymore.

I forced out, "Please tell me there aren't any more because I won't be able to stop crying then."

I have no idea why it even slipped out, but it was totally the fucking truth. I wouldn't be able to leave the apartment pretty soon.

"No, that's it," he said quietly.

I nodded. "Can you just… just give me a minute?" I said, and totally walked away again. But I really had to.

"Yeah, sure," I heard him say.

I went straight for the bathroom where I turned on the water and then sobbed for a few minutes. I just had to get it out, otherwise I was never gonna be able to look at him at dinner. I hesitated to look at myself in the mirror, but it didn't seem too bad. I took a few deep breaths and flushed the toilet for cover and then came out.

"I'll be right there, Tyler," I called, happy that my voice was steadier.

I took the tags off the wallet carefully and ran my fingers over the smooth leather before I dug through the box on my dresser for the few cards that I had, putting them in a few of the slots. I smiled when I took the cash out of my pocket because it was a mess, as usual. I hadn't bothered to do anything with it after work, just stuffed the tips in my pocket. I ironed out the bills against the edge of the dresser and put them in order like Doug had told me that day so many years ago. I put the cash in the back of the wallet and unzipped it to put a little bit of change in it. I smirked, feeling really fucking responsible as I shoved it in my back pocket. It fit perfectly.

With my emotions under control, I was smiling when I came back out. He was in the same spot, but leaning against the wall, his head down like he was thinking. He stood up straight when he saw me. "You ok?"

"Yeah." I nodded. I pulled the wallet out. "Look! It's all in one place."

He looked down and then back up at me, and his smile was nearly breaking his face.

"That's great! You can tell Jordan to fuck off now when she razzes you about the cash. Just whip it out and be like, I got that shit all under control."

I nodded again. "I love it. Thank you."

I leaned toward him, standing on my toes, and he went completely still. He watched me the entire time until my lips pressed to his, and then they closed and he sighed into the kiss. The softness of his lips hit me all over again and it felt just like it had this morning. We seriously needed to go to dinner or we were never gonna get out of this apartment.

He cleared his throat. "You ready, then?"

"Yeah, let's go."

Pizza.

He took me out for pizza.

I mean, he was getting into territory where I was questioning again if this was real—the presents and everything, and then when he had me all worried about dressing up and shit, and being uncomfortable somewhere in a restaurant where I couldn't pronounce the shit on the menu… And we go for pizza.

What could be more comfortable than pizza?

It was so normal and relaxed, and I loved it.

I loved everything about this night.

And everything that he had done for me since we met.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr: wtrm-heretofall(dot)tumblr(dot)com/

Blog: htf-wtrm(dot)blogspot(dot)com/


	12. Chapter 12

******Chapter Twelve**  


* * *

**A/N: I'm so sorry this is so late. I reaaaaaaally hope we can get back on track to regular posting. Thanks for sticking around.  
**

* * *

**TPOV**

No one had ever bought her flowers before.

Ever.

In her life.

That was some seriously fucked up shit.

And she seemed so shocked by just the thought of it—and that was even before I'd given her the wallet.

I mean, she cried.

I just… These things seemed so ordinary, so usual, but to her they were completely foreign, and a first.

Sure, my mom cried when we gave her presents sometimes, but that was different. This was like she was so overwhelmed with a foreign emotion, not because she was affected by the gift or really, it was both, but…presents were a fairly common custom, and the fact that no one gave her any, or it was so rare that she reacted this way… Shit, I just felt bad. I felt bad for her.

It really pissed me off, too, because she was such a great person, and I fully understood that life was cruel and all that, but, Jesusfuck, I wished I could go back and erase all of that for her. It made me want to give her things all the time just to see the light in her face, and to make it a normal thing. In a purely selfish part of myself, I was glad I was the first one to give them to her.

After the flowers and the wallet, my plans for dinner sort of just automatically lined up. I hadn't really decided where I was going to take her that night, but it became obvious that, with the presents, she needed something low-key. So I decided on pizza, and it was the perfect decision. She was comfortable and at ease in the parlor.

We didn't rush through the dinner or anything, but I really wanted to get back to her apartment, and she seemed to feel the same way. It wasn't that I had expectations; I just wanted the atmosphere there, and maybe some cuddling on her couch.

There was warmth in her apartment that was missing from mine, and it was obvious to me why. I mean, I lived with Aidan, king of beer and party central. It wasn't just because she was a girl. It was the slowness of everything, the build, the affection and intimacy.

It was nearly midnight when we got back to her apartment and she went straight for the couch, so we were totally on the same page. I sat down next to her, and instead of letting her just rest her head on my shoulder I risked putting my arm over the back of the couch, and she folded herself right into my chest that way. Her hand landed on my chest next to her head and I would have been happy falling asleep right there.

The longer we stayed that way the smaller the couch seemed, and the more I really wanted to kiss her again. It was so late, though, I really needed to go because the more she allowed, the more I wanted.

"I should probably get outta here. It's really late," I whispered into her hair.

She sighed but nodded against my chest. "Yeah… You want see where I put the flowers before you go?" she asked.

She seemed so fucking excited as she pulled away from me, like half bouncing and turning to me all expectant, that I couldn't say no.

I smiled. "Yeah, absolutely."

We got up from the couch and I followed her to her bedroom. There on the dresser, smack dab in the middle of the back like it'd been arranged with a fucking ruler or something to make sure it was _right_ in the middle, were the flowers. They looked great there. The walls were all white, so the splash of color against it looked amazing. They really were pretty flowers. The bouquet was mostly reds and pinks, but there were little touches of purple and yellow and white. It was really nice.

"They look really great. Good spot for them."

She nodded, appraising them, her fingers covering her mouth. "Yeah, I think so. I love them there. I wish they wouldn't die. I'd like to keep them there."

Hmm. I'd look into that. I smiled.

"Do you know what kind these are?" she asked, pointing.

"They're lilies. I know the lady told me the specific kind, but they're a type of lily."

"Those are my favorite. They're really beautiful. I like that they have more than one color. These are nice, too—the purple ones. And these—with the two different pinks. They're all nice."

"I know the pink ones are carnations. I have no idea what those purple ones are," I admitted. "She told me all of them, but it didn't stick." But she had a favorite! A new favorite!

She nodded again before tilting her head and looking at the jar the flowers were in. "They need more water. They drank a lot."

And she was gone with the flowers. I chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed. She brought them back a minute later, the jar filled to the top. It was adorable how much she cared. I had to figure out a way for her to keep them.

Her eyes sort of darted around the room for a second before she realized where I was and I smiled from my position on the bed, my eyebrows up.

I pointed to the chair. "If your chair didn't have so much shit on it, I could have sat there. Chairs are functional pieces of furniture, you know. That's what they make dressers and closets for."

She was smirking. "You forget that I've seen your bedroom and you have just as much shit all over."

"True, but any chair in the apartment can also be sat in."

She didn't reply. She knew I was teasing, but I also wanted her to know I wasn't asking for anything. I'd just sat down because I didn't know how long she was going to take with the flowers.

She had a way of surprising me, though, too. I wasn't the only one who could shock the other in this relationship. She went around to the bottom of the bed and climbed in it, reclining behind me. I turned to look at her.

"Lay down with me?"

I didn't need to be asked twice. This was the exact opposite of how we'd slept last night—I'd been closest to the wall and she'd been on the outside. I moved closer, so our heads were sharing a pillow and we were lying close but not touching. She was watching me, and she looked nervous.

"I… Can we talk about something?"

"Yeah, of course. What do you wanna talk about?"

She fought with herself for a few long minutes; it was starting to worry me. She tried to start a few times and just couldn't seem to get it out. I grabbed her hand finally, trying to ground her. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Our eyes met.

"It's just…confusing. And kinda embarrassing."

"Is the kissing too much? Too fast?" I honestly didn't know how I could be any slower. I'd waited ages and never even kissed her goodnight. The only reason I had last night was because I felt vulnerable myself.

"Fuck, no. I liked—I _like_ kissing you. That's the problem." She sighed, frustrated.

"Just spit it out. Whatever it is."

Her lip went behind her teeth while she looked at me. "I don't know how."

"What's it about?"

"You. And this morning."

"Ok."

I tried to figure out what could be going through her mind. We'd kissed last night. The morning had been ok—a little awkward, but ok. I'd only kissed her once before I left, and I didn't think I'd pressured her or that she didn't like any of it. She'd said as much.

"So…you told me you liked it when I kissed you. And it wasn't too fast. So that can't be the issue. Is it something I did?"

"No." She shook her head against the pillow.

I ran my thumb over her knuckles slowly, trying to be soothing. I had no fucking idea if it was helping or not, but she wasn't pulling her hand away or anything.

"It's the kissing, though," she said suddenly.

"Ok. What about the kissing?"

"After you left…it's all I thought about."

I smiled. "Yeah, I thought about it a lot, too."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I couldn't stop thinking about you all fucking day."

She sighed, "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Is that what this is about? That you thought about it?"

"Yeah. Well, part of it."

"What's the other part?"

"I don't…do this. It's like it's… God." She ran a hand over her face.

"Allison. Tell me."

"I fucking got off. Later, after you left. I feel like such a moron."

I was silent for a second until my brain kicked in and told me I should really fucking be saying something back. "You're not a moron. Why do you think you're a moron?"

Her hand fell away and she glared at me.

"What? Getting off?"

She nodded.

"Why would that make you a moron?"

She looked confused. "Well I'd been thinking about the kisses and it wouldn't go away, so I was trying to just get on with my day, but it just wouldn't leave, and so I got." She paused and then started again. "I got my vibrator out and, I dunno, then I was thinking about you and…" She shrugged, sighing.

My mind was racing because on the one hand, she just admitted to me that she not only had a vibrator, but that she used it today while thinking about me—so my dick was already getting hard and I had to completely ignore it because she was being honest with me and trying to communicate whatever was going on with her, and she was looking for me to be responsible and shit. So I couldn't fuck it up, and I couldn't let my own wants take over. So I told my dick to shut up and tried to focus on what she was saying and what she wasn't. She had a vibrator, so masturbation was not the issue. What she was telling me was that masturbating and thinking of me was the weird part for her. So…masturbation must have been mechanical and not emotionally attached to anyone before me.

Ok. I could go with that.

I tried to summarize. "Ok, so you're saying that normally when you get yourself off, you're not thinking about anyone in particular."

"Yeah."

"And so you're weirded out because you thought about me and got off."

"Yeah." She sighed again. "I mean, is that normal?"

Sometimes when she looked at me or asked me shit, or I'd say something and she'd be completely shocked or surprised by something that was normal, it made my heart hurt because she still really hadn't told me much about her past, and it was so obvious that this was all tied together. It was like she was sheltered, but not, because she was a goddamn stripper. But relationship-wise, or in relation to the world at large, there were things that were normal that were completely new to her.

I had to make sure that she knew it was ok to ask me this shit or that I didn't make her feel bad about any of it because that'd be a surefire way to fuck this up and cut off the way she was talking to me about shit.

I didn't want to be condescending either. I had to be supportive and understanding and prepared for shit because I was sure this was only the first of many conversations we'd have like this.

"Yeah, Allison. It's completely normal." It was probably time for an admission. That'd probably make her feel better. "I mean, you drive me crazy." I smiled and she looked at me oddly. I just told her it wasn't weird and it was completely normal. "I think about you all the time when I get off. What it's like to kiss you. What it would be like with you. It's a fantasy thing. Whatever turns you on to get you there, ya know?"

She was processing that, I could tell. She finally said, "I've never had that before."

Filing information in the Allison Lexicon: Fantasy was new. That was pretty basic, and it was something she hadn't developed, but I had no idea why. Why, after kissing me, she had her first orgasm that included a fantasy or an extension of one. The sex thing wasn't really weird in itself—lots of girls had hang-ups about sex—but I needed to know what hers were if I was ever going to help her with them. Her past was fucked up, that much was evident, but I needed to know if it was abuse or some sort of abstinence thing or some fucked up religious thing. It was just hard to know where to go, how to proceed without any information.

And I probably needed to respond to that. "That's ok. I'm glad you did."

Well, that was lame.

She smiled, though, like she was proud I said that, or happy that I was glad. I dunno. "Can I ask you something?"

We'd moved to a point of wariness, but she wanted to answer me, wanted to be able to, wanted to believe that I wasn't asking something she wasn't going to want to answer. That was good progress. She trusted me more.

"Yeah," she said quietly.

Maybe I should tell her why first. "I just… I don't want to make you uncomfortable, and I don't want you to do something you don't want to. I'm not asking if you want to have sex, or if you're ready for that or anything. I just don't know how much you want. Or if I'm doing it in a way you want. Or at the pace you want." Might as well just barrel right into it, then. "The 'I don't date' thing, is that just a recent thing, or have you never dated anyone before?"

"Uhm…"

That shouldn't have been a hard question. I didn't say anything else, though.

"I… This kind of dating thing," she made a motion between us, "no, not really."

Ok. "What other kind of dating is there?"

Her brows furrowed. "I…don't know how to explain it, Tyler."

She was getting stressed out. "It's fine. Just forget about that." Too close to the grenade on that one. I sighed quietly.

She looked at me and I smiled back. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm just trying to figure out how to do this."

She nodded. "Someday. I'll tell you someday. It's just not an easy subject, and I wouldn't know where to start."

"It doesn't have to start tonight. It's cool."

Pushing her too far too fast would get us nowhere and she'd wind up resenting me.

She nodded again, smiling gently at me.

So I had some new knowledge, but I really didn't know anything else. I tried to figure out where to go from here. I thought about last night, the atmosphere and how it'd started, and tried to go with that.

"Ok, so…how about when I think about doing something else or something new, I ask you if it's ok? You can tell me if there's something you don't like or something you don't want. Or if you want to try something, you can just ask me instead. Like tonight—you asked if we could talk and we went from there…" I trailed off, hoping she got the drift.

She thought a second and then nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Good." It took all of three seconds for me to ask, "Can I hold you? Would that be ok?"

More confusion.

"Or just…if that's not cool, is it ok if I touch you?" I amended quickly, "Not in, like, a sexual way. Just...touching."

It was funny because I think she wanted the sexual touching more. She almost looked disappointed—must've been a helluva fantasy. Also, I don't think she understood what I meant, either. So another fact for the Allison Lexicon: Affection for affection's sake? Also new. It was obvious she knew about affection—she'd given me a spontaneous hug in the hallway earlier; we cuddled—but in a sexual context, or a in a potentially sexual context, not something she was familiar with.

She didn't answer.

"Do you trust me?" That was probably not a good question to ask.

"Honestly?"

"Always."

"I want to."

"Can I ask you to?"

"Yeah, ok," she breathed out.

I always moved slowly, in case she wanted me to stop, and I started with her cheek, cupping it and running my thumb over her cheekbone like I'd done earlier in the hallway, as well—familiarity was probably the best way to ease anyone in. My finger roamed over her ear before I gradually moved my hand until it was running over her hair. Her eyes closed and she breathed out a sigh. I shifted a little closer, my hand skimming back over her face and down her neck to her shoulder. I trailed my hand down her arm and back up again, slowly making the same trek until her breathing picked up. When I looked back at her face, her eyes were open again and watching me intently.

I didn't ask that time, but I didn't think I needed to, either—I could read the answer in her eyes. We were close enough that all I had to do was shift my head closer and we were kissing. It started slowly, just like it had last night, and I made sure that deepening the kisses was gradual. Her body was tense, but she was more angled toward me than she had been the previous night. I took both lips in turn between mine and was happy that she kept responding to it. I moved my hand back up to cup her face while we kissed, and kept up the same kisses before gently pushing my tongue against her lips on one. She let out a puff of air that was laced with a moan and instantly opened her mouth to me, pushing her tongue against mine, and I stopped pulling away from the kisses. Everything was still gentle, but more insistent, her tongue caressing around mine as she moaned louder when I nipped at her lip and ran my tongue over her teeth. I smiled against her lips when she shifted herself closer, pressing her body against mine, and maneuvered my other hand under her to sprawl over her back and pull her closer.

She pulled back and nudged my forehead with hers. "I want to touch you, too."

"Hell yeah," I said before I could stop myself, and she chuckled, her hand moving over to me as slowly as I'd moved to her.

I'm not sure who was waiting for it more—her or me—but I let out my own moan when her hand landed on my chest and kneaded gently, her mouth seeking mine again, and shit, this was great—her hands on me and her body pressed to mine and kissing her like this. It felt perfect. It all felt perfect. My body felt like it was vibrating, and I think it totally fucking was, just anticipating the feel of her hands, and then the actuality of it being better than I imagined. Her hands were warm over my shirt, her fingers digging in, pulling at the material. Her other hand wormed under me just like I was holding her, and I sighed when she cupped the back of my neck.

Having her this close, and the kissing and everything, wasn't doing any favors for my dick. Or rather, it was doing a great favor for my dick, but it needed to shut up. I let it continue for a few more minutes, greedy with what she was giving me, and she didn't seem to be stingy once she was giving, happy to follow my lead.

Her tongue ran over my teeth—fast learner—and slid against mine while our lips stayed in an open-mouthed kiss until I knew I had to pull away because I needed air, and if I didn't stop we were going to go further than she was ready for.

She pulled at my shirt when I moved back from the kiss; she wanted more. Her other hand flexed on my neck, playing with the hair at the base until I had goosebumps running all over my fucking body. She felt too good.

"We need to stop," I forced myself to say.

"I like this."

"I know. I do, too. But we have to stop."

"Why?"

"Because otherwise I'm going to let things go too far."

"Maybe that's ok."

Oh, fucking hell. Don't encourage my dick.

"No, it's not." I shook my head and inched away from her, putting a tiny bit of space between our bodies, enough that I wouldn't be tempted to grind myself against her. "I want to, but we can't."

She understood—I knew she did—she just didn't want to either. "I know," she said, pulling my head back until she kissed me softly. "Thank you."

I nodded, chuckling, "Yeah."

"You could stay," she said quietly, searching my face.

"I should probably go."

"You slept here last night."

Again with the encouraging! Being the responsible one fucking sucked. "I know, and I want to, but I think I should go."

"I don't want you to go." The even quieter way she said it nearly made my heart break.

"We can't make out if you want me to just sleep here." I chuckled.

"Ever?"

I snorted. "No, not ever. Just not right now. We weren't… It wasn't this intense last night. It's just not a good idea tonight. I don't want to fuck this up."

"I don't either."

"So I should go."

"Ok."

Neither of us moved. We weren't kissing, but my hands were still on her back and running up and down her arm again and hers were burning a hole through my shirt and making the fucking goosebumps roll over my body in waves. I really didn't want to leave. I sighed and started to move back and her hands moved away, and I felt instantly colder without her hand on my chest.

I sat up and she followed suit like she was going to walk me out. "It's ok. I can let myself out."

She nodded, staying seated on the bed while I got up.

I cleared my throat. "I, uh, I have to work tomorrow, or today, I guess, and pick up Caroline from school."

She nodded. "Yeah, I work until close today."

That sucked. She looked as disappointed as I did. "I have class the next day, but I'm free after that."

"I think I work until close then, too."

I nodded this time.

"The tips are better for that shift," she added. I really didn't need to hear that, but she was telling me because she wanted me to have a reason for the late work hours.

I smirked. "Yeah, I'm sure drunk assholes tip better."

"Yeah, they do." She smiled back. "What time is your class?"

"Two."

"Yeah, my shift starts at four—that won't work."

"What about the day after? I don't care what I'm doing, I'll clear it."

She laughed. "I might be off that day."

"Cool. We could spend the day together."

"Ok."

"Should I call you?"

"Yeah." She smiled.

"Ok." I moved closer and bent down, kissing her gently and cupping her cheek before moving back to kiss her forehead. "Goodnight, then."

"'Night."

Walking out of that room was like walking in quicksand after trudging through muddy water with leg weights—it fucking sucked. And it sucked more knowing I wouldn't see her for days.

"Tyler?" she called when I'd just gotten past her door.

"Yeah?" I stuck my head back in.

"I trust you."

Oh, Fucking Christ. Come on! I wasn't sure which part of me liked that more: my ever-betraying dick or my heart, which might as well have melted. I swallowed thickly. "Thank you." It was much more gravely than I wanted it to be, but I was doing a decent job here if she was saying it, so I was pretty fucking proud of it. "I'll call you."

I picked up my jacket from the couch and let myself out. I got as far as the street before my phone was ringing. I smiled when her name was on the display. "Miss me that much?" I teased.

"You're not going to walk home, are you?" she asked.

"I hadn't really thought about it, I guess."

"I don't want you to walk home right now. Not when it's this late. This neighborhood sucks. You'll get stabbed or something."

God, this night couldn't really get any better. She was worried about me. "Ok. I can call a cab."

The relief in her voice was evident. "Ok, good. That's good. You wanna come back up while you wait?"

"Nah, I don't want you to have to get up again. It's ok."

"I'm already up. I had to lock the door behind you. I can see your shadow on the sidewalk."

I chuckled, moving out farther and looking up to her window. I swallowed thickly again, though, when I saw her. "You look beautiful," I said before I could stop myself. She really did, though. Her hair was down and around her shoulders, and she looked relaxed sitting on the windowsill, the light from her lamp putting her in muted, yellowy hue. "I better not."

She sighed. "Ok. You want me to call a cab?"

"Sure."

"'K. I'll call you back, then, keep you company until they get here."

"All right. Thanks."

She hung up without saying goodbye and she left the window for a minute to find cab numbers, I guess. I watched the window until she came back and I could see her dialing.

I answered before the second ring. "They'll be here in ten, they said," she told me.

"Ok. What are we gonna do for the next ten minutes?" I asked.

"I think we should discuss how we're going to get through the next few days."

I chuckled and I didn't ask for clarification as to what she was asking. "Well, you have a vibrator…"

She snorted. "I do. You have a hand."

"I'm sure I'll be using it. It's gonna be hell being away from you."

"You think we should talk about that?"

"Talk about masturbating?" I'd looked away from the window, but I craned my neck up again.

She scoffed. "No, I think we talked about that already. Sex, I mean."

"We can talk about whatever you want. What do you wanna talk about with sex?" This was a strange conversation to be having on a phone…on a street corner…at three am.

"When we should be having it."

Well that was direct and to the point. "I think we should be having it whenever you're ready."

"What if I told you I was ready right now?"

"I'd come back upstairs. But I don't think you are."

She sighed. "So, then, what? What do we do?"

"We keep doing what we've been doing. We just add whatever you feel comfortable with." I realized suddenly that this was actually kind of perfect because she didn't need to see me to ask me any of this, and it was probably easier to discuss it like this. It was still kind of odd, because I felt like we were mapping our sex life, but I'd sort of been doing that all along anyway.

"Right, but how do we know when to add?"

"Well, I'll ask. Or you can tell me. Just like we've been doing."

"So, if when I see you again and I want to try something, we can?"

"Yeah, of course." Fucking hell, of course. Good God, did she know? Did she know what she wanted to try? Telling me would give me time to figure out how to make that happen, or make it comfortable and relaxed, but… Fuck, I was already thinking about it, if she told me specifics I wouldn't be able to do anything else. I purposely didn't ask.

"I'll miss you," she said quietly.

I smiled. "I'll miss you, too. You can call me, though, anytime you want. And do—call me—because otherwise I'll feel like an asshole when I call you from the cab."

She laughed. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Ok," I sighed.

The cab pulled up and I waved goodbye, ending our call. I spent the entire ride with my thoughts swimming about what she was thinking about. I'm not sure if that was worse than knowing or not. If she'd told me, at least that could have been all I fixated on.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	13. Chapter 13

******Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

**Merry Christmas a little ****late! ****  
**

* * *

**APOV**

It was weird that I hadn't ever spent a lot of time thinking about sex given the fact I'd been a whore. Or if I did, I thought about it in terms of how many guys I'd have to suck off or fuck in a night or something. It was always business; it was never because I wanted to.

That had not been the case the last few days. We hadn't even had sex yet and all I could think about was Tyler—his hands, his body, his smile, his hair, his hands; his hands on me, his fingers in me. That became the thing I thought about the most: his fingers inside me. No one had put their fingers inside me in a way that was just for me in so long that I wasn't sure I remembered what it felt like. So when he said it was cool for me to ask for things, that was fucking what I was asking for. I think I easily doubled, if not tripled, the amount of times I got off thinking about him compared to the time before Tyler.

We called each other a ridiculous amount of times those days we didn't see each other. And the fact that I could hear him and couldn't see him almost made it worse, because the fantasy thing he was talking about, it was really fucking easy when his voice was in my head.

We could spend the entire day together today, though—I didn't have to work and he was blowing off class. I wasn't sure that was really a good thing, that he was blowing it off for me, but it wasn't like he was actually getting graded on anything, anyway.

That was totally selfish and shit, but I just didn't care. I wanted to see him. For as long as possible.

We made plans for him to come over with his latest activity at an unreasonable time in the morning. A time that neither of us would have been up normally for if it weren't for seeing each other because we hadn't in so many days—so many days being, like, three.

I didn't know what to expect—as usual—when I opened the door. He was holding a huge box full of shit. I laughed and moved out of the way. "What the fuck is all this?"

"This is our project."

Project or not, the minute the box was out of his hands and the door was closed, I was kissing him. I'd thought about that mouth for three fucking days, and it was just as soft and amazing as I remembered it.

The first kiss was nice, gentle.

It was frantic after that.

My hands roamed all over his back and in his hair, and his were doing the same, and I wanted to climb up his body and press myself close to him…and tried just that. I let out a whimper and a gasp when my leg started to ride up his leg and his hands dropped to them and lifted me up, backing us up to the couch.

I think we were both a little tightly wound. From there our mouths were completely possessed, and I was obsessed with the way his tongue fit along mine and our teeth would connect and how he'd frame my lips with his and suck them into his mouth and how we just kept it up for the longest fucking time, our breathing heavy and his fingers kneading along my sides.

I think we got a little carried away, because before long, I was grinding down into his lap and rolling my hips into him and he was pulling me forward, and I would have done whatever the fuck he wanted to at that moment. I could feel he was hard and it gave me such a rush of confidence, not because I could get him hard—I could anyone hard—but because I could feel myself getting wet, and that meant I wanted it as much as he did. I wanted him; I wanted this. I couldn't remember a time where I wanted someone like that. Where I wanted the attention, wanted him to keep touching me, keep kissing me.

He pulled back, resting his forehead on mine. "Allison, we have to stop."

"I don't want to stop."

"I know. I don't either. And that's why we have to."

Goddamn motherfucking responsible cocksucker.

I rolled my hips into him anyway, just for good measure, and he moaned into my mouth, kissing me again. I held his face to mine, my hands kneading his neck and pulling at the ends of his hair. I suppose that was kinda mean, but…I had needs, goddamn it.

He chuckled as he pulled away the next time. "Boy, once you want something, you really go for it, huh?"

I ground into his lap for an answer.

He groaned, holding me still. "Ok, we have to stop or I'm gonna do something really stupid."

I was completely breathless. "Maybe I want stupid."

"No." He shook his head, pulling away. "I don't want stupid. Not with you."

"Ugh." I hadn't really meant for that to come out, but he laughed at it. I basically went limp, falling against his chest in defeat. I let out a huge, shaky sigh and loved the feeling of his hands rubbing up and down my back before he just held me.

"It's not because I don't want to. I want to. You have no idea how much I want to." His voice was so quiet. "I just don't want to fuck this up."

I sighed into his neck. "I know, I know." I backed up and looked at him. His lips looked like mine felt: swollen and red, and his hair was a mess from what my fingers had been doing to it. He leaned his head back on the couch. "It just fucking… I'd rather be stupid."

He chuckled. "Being stupid is easier." He reached out a hand and moved the hair out of my face. "I missed you."

I smirked. "Yeah, I guess I missed you a little bit, too."

"Just a little?"

"A tiny bit. Not even worth mentioning really."

He was smiling. "Well, that's something."

"So what's this fucking box for? What kind of project are you distracting me from sex with?"

He cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, just gimme a minute or ten." His head thumped back on the couch.

I moved off of his lap, because I'm sure that wasn't helping, and he groaned. I wasn't sure if it was a thankful one or not. I think it was easier when I wasn't sitting on his lap, though. I didn't want to make it harder for him—not harder than it already was.

And I kinda started giggling to myself because…ya know, _harder_. He was still hard, and he turned his head to the side to look at me when I kept giggling. I really couldn't stop.

"What?" he asked.

I giggled some more and he picked up his head from the back of the couch, looking at me.

"What?"

I waved him off. "Nothing. I just kept thinking about how I didn't want to make it harder for you, because you seem to be the one that has to be responsible, and, well—" I broke off into giggles "—I don't know how I can help to make it less hard."

He blew out a laugh. "Yeah. Laughing at a guy usually works."

I backed up. "No, I didn't… I'm not laughing at you, Tyler."

He smiled. "I know. I'm just teasing you. Laughing wouldn't work, anyway. Everything you do makes me crazy; it wouldn't matter."

"Oh," I said, and then smiled to myself.

My smiling just made him smile wider. I kinda liked that.

"Yup."

I really didn't want to make it ha—difficult. I didn't want to make it more _difficult_ for him, so I got up from the couch and stood next to it instead. "You want some coffee or something? I can give you a few minutes to—" I laughed quickly "—settle down or whatever."

He smirked. "Coffee'd be great."

I nodded. "Ok. I'll get on that…and leave you alone for a few."

I giggled the entire time I was in the kitchen. I'm not sure if it was because I was proud of myself or because I felt bad that it was easier for me to get off of the sex track physically. It wasn't embarrassment—I mean, we both fully well knew that was gonna happen.

I sat down at the table and he followed me into the kitchen a few minutes later, and I couldn't help it again, I just started laughing. He chuckled and got a cup from the cabinet, helping himself to the coffee. He sat down and we both just kinda smirked at each other over our cups.

He blew out a breath when he finished his. "Right, so…before we were derailed by hormones, I had a box." He got up and brought it back to the table. "Whether it was rational or not, it really pissed me off when you said no one had ever given you flowers. That's just wrong. Guys should have been giving you flowers all the time."

My brow furrowed. "Why should they have been giving me flowers all the time?

"Because. They just should have. It's just testament to the fact that you dated, or didn't—or whatever—total assholes before. And you said you wanted to keep them and wished that they wouldn't die. So, naturally, I decided I had to do something about that."

Well, there we went again, bouncing all over into territory where he confused me—as to why I should have been bought flowers in the first place and then deciding he was making it his mission to help me keep them.

"Wait, what? How do you keep flowers? They die."

"Well, yes, but I looked up ways to preserve them. And a lot of the ways are really stupid, and people said they didn't really work or, like, if you press them, you don't really have the flower—it's all squished and shit—so that's not really letting you keep it."

"Pressing flowers?" Did that really just come out of his mouth?

"Yeah. Well, no. We're not pressing your flowers, but we're going to try to preserve them."

"Uhm. Ok."

"You said you wanted that, right?"

"Well, sure. That'd be great. I just… Ya know, you just always show up at my apartment with shit and I'm trying to keep up."

Jesus Christ, I don't think anyone had ever actually listened to me as well as Tyler. It was like he missed nothing. Me saying I wanted to keep them had been such a small fucking part of the whole night. It was just… He made me feel like I was actually being heard, and that was totally different than just listening.

"We don't have to," he said quickly.

"No, that's great. I just… It's like the ice-skating—just, bam, one day we're ice-skating. I love it; it's great. My brain just needs to catch up with your grand plan." I smiled at him. "That's really sweet. Thank you."

He shrugged. "So I printed off about a thousand different instructions, some were just ridiculous, and this one seemed to be the easiest and the best way to preserve the whole flower. I have no idea if it will work or not, and I'm not handy with like crafty shit at all, so this may be a complete disaster, and I may blow up your kitchen or something. But I mean well."

The smile hadn't gone anywhere. "Ok. What are we supposed to do?"

He started unpacking the box. "Well I think this one with glycerin is the best one to try." He showed me a list of instructions. "There were some that suggested sand and shit, and baking and hanging, but I know my mom tried the hanging thing once and it failed miserably, and baking individual flowers was just… It sounded stupid."

I laughed. "Yeah, ok. So we're doing which one?"

"This one," he said, pointing. "I got a bunch of glycerin from the craft store and I think they thought I was making a bomb or something because they looked at me really funny while I was checking out. I read a lot of different instructions…"

_He_ _read instructions on how to preserve flowers_. For me. Like, researched flower preserving. Who the fuck does that? And why did he always feel the need to make me feel so fucking special? I wasn't special. I wasn't anything. He really didn't need to do that. It was nice—it was really fucking nice—but I just didn't know if he really understood who he was doing this for. I just…

"Tyler," I said.

"What?"

"You know you really don't have to do this stuff." I gestured to the box and the bottles of…whatever the fuck he'd just taken out that would blow stuff up.

His brows pulled down. "I want to do this stuff."

"Why?"

He looked straight at me. "Because."

"You don't have to."

"Because no one else has and I want to. I want to because you think I don't have to."

What the fuck did that even mean? "I don't know what you mean."

He stood up to unload the box, but then he shoved it over and he sat down. He sighed and then looked right back at me again. "Allison, whatever life experiences and shit you've had—they sucked. There's no other way to really describe them. It's fucked up that no one's given you flowers, or taken you out to a proper dinner, or given you a present, or asked you what your favorite color is and all that shit. Or to do those things for you without having a reason behind it, or something they want from you in exchange.

"I'm not asking for anything from you, and I only want you to give me what _you_ want. And it's not like I do this kind of stuff for everyone, but I want to do it for you. I want to do things for the people I care about—it's normal to want to do things for people you care about.

"And you do it, too—you make me dinner, or get the kind of soda I want at the theater, or buy the kind of beer I like and have it here. It's the same kind of thing. I want to do these things because you deserve them. You deserve for someone to treat you the way you should have been treated all along. Ok?"

Well motherfucking Christ.

I mean what do I even say to that? Some of that shit, up until recently, were things I didn't even think existed. And his gentle question at the end was just…

I sighed and tried to keep my voice from shaking. "It's not a switch I can flip, Tyler."

"I know."

I nodded. "Sometimes, things you do just don't make any sense to me. I don't see what's behind them."

"No, it's because you're _looking_ for something behind them. And there's nothing to find. I just want to do it. It makes me incredibly angry and sad when you don't know why I'd be doing something nice."

"Why does it make you feel anything?"

"I dunno, it just does. Because it's wrong. Because me doing something nice for you shouldn't mean you question why I'm doing it."

I didn't say anything back to him because I knew what he was trying to say. I just couldn't help it.

"I know that you can only go on what you know," he said this quieter than all the other stuff, "but I dunno, I guess I'm hoping if I do enough of it, it just becomes normal enough to be normal."

I nodded. "Ok."

"Yeah?"

"But not everyone is like you, Tyler."

"I know that."

"It's dangerous if I start to think that way. Where I come from, that's dangerous."

For a while, I thought I'd stumped him, that he didn't have any other answers. After a few minutes, though, he said, "Ok, so then I'm trying to do enough of it so it's normal enough to be normal with _me_. So it won't be dangerous to you outside of what we have."

I thought about that for a few minutes as he started to unpack the rest of the box. I loved that he gave me time to think if I wanted it.

There was no pressure that way.

I was beginning to…I dunno what the word was exactly, _get used to_, I guess—but that sounded more negative than I wanted it to—his sort of detailed or complex ideas. He threw shit at me sometimes faster than I could take it in. Ideas that didn't at all line up to the life I'd had before I met him.

And it wasn't that I thought he was wrong, or that what he said wasn't the normal way of things, because I knew that most of my life had been completely fucked up and not normal. But like I'd told him, I couldn't just flip the switch. I couldn't turn it off. I couldn't just accept what he said as truth without some sort of experience to go with it. Words didn't usually mean much, and I supposed that was why he did these things instead. He showed me instead because he knew that him saying it wasn't really going to help me at all.

He really wasn't asking for much; I didn't really know if he was asking me for anything. He just wanted me to understand that the things he did weren't connected to anything else—that there was no catch—and he wanted to do it enough so I didn't even wonder if there was a catch or why he wanted to do something.

I don't think he was really looking for me to answer, and I think what I said gave him the answer he wanted anyway. "So what do we do with this shit?

He smiled. "Some of the instructions said all you had to do was cut off the end of the stem of the flower, or crush it and stick that end in the glycerin, but I think from reading I've determined that only makes the flowers last a little longer, it's not actually preserving them, so we have to dunk the whole flower in it. But we can try both and see which works better, and if neither work, then I'll just buy you more flowers."

I laughed. "Ok. So we just stick all of them in this?" I pointed to the bottles of glycerin.

"That's not real clear, either. They all say to mix it with water, but the dunking one says just to stick it in there, and the stem only one says to boil it. If all we're doing is sticking stems in it, it won't take that long," he chuckled.

"So…should we do half and half?"

"Sure." He nodded.

I went to get the flowers, loving the thought of always having them in my room, keeping them forever. It was that Tyler wanted me to have nice things, too—nice things for me. That was what confused me sometimes, because it was so rare. He wanted what I wanted. It was a hard concept for me to remember.

Once I got them back to the table, we didn't really talk much. We followed the directions, pouring two parts water and one part glycerin in the large pan he brought, and realized too late we were going to need to put them somewhere, so I had to rummage around the apartment to find enough cardboard to lay them out on.

It was really messy, but it was fun doing it with him.

For the second set, I boiled the water and he started crushing the stems of the other flowers, and it occurred to me that this was probably not a normal date activity, and that made Tyler even more different. How many dudes would crush fucking flower stems while not getting laid? Seriously.

As I brought the water over and he poured the glycerin in and we stuck the stems in the pot, I bumped my hip against his. "Hey."

He turned to look at me. "Hi."

"You're pretty great, ya know? I don't think I've told you that."

He smiled. "Thanks. I think you're pretty great, too."

"Oh, my God, make me fucking puke."

"Oh, shit." My head dropped to hang in front of me for a second.

Jordan hadn't been up yet when Tyler got here. I'd kind of forgotten that Jordan even lived in the apartment—or at all. It wasn't that I was afraid she was going to catch us or something—I'd caught her with guys before—it was just…the whole I-want-Tyler-to-myself thing. I didn't want her horning in on our time. Or having this kind of conversation in front of him.

She moved around us to get to the coffeemaker, a noise leaving her mouth that was some part hurling, some part pure disgust. "And what the _fuck_ are you doing in our kitchen? What are those flowers doing in the pot we use for chili?"

Tyler was smartly quiet, just went about stuffing the rest of the stems into the pot.

"Morning, Jordan," I said with a fair amount of 'get the fuck out' laced in there.

She turned to me with her cup of coffee, sipping it noisily. "What?" she asked, smiling brightly.

"Maybe you'd like to have your coffee in your own goddamn room, huh?"

"No." She shook her head. "I think I'd like to know what lover boy is doing over here." She was being annoying on purpose, sticking her face in between us to look in the pot. "Were they dirty? Are you sterilizing them? Is this some kind of new kinky shit you two are trying after the relish got old?"

"Ugh." My hand came up to cover my face. "Tyler, I'm sorry."

He actually smiled at me. And Jordan. "It's cool."

Say what?

Jordan hitched a hip and glared at him. "And what exactly is 'cool', lover boy?"

"Well," he started, sticking the last flower in the pot and turning around to face her, "you want to protect her, so we have that in common. You want to make sure I'm not a total asshole, so I get that, too. But I think I've figured out that all the guys you've dated are either the same caliber as the ones Allison has, or just one step up, so me being nice is just as confusing to you as it is to her." He folded his arms and leaned against the counter.

I'd never seen Jordan speechless—not once—she always had an answer.

He wasn't done, though. "We're currently preserving her flowers because I thought it might be nice, and I took your advice and got her the wallet, which was a really great idea. When you can actually call me lover boy, I'll let you know. And when that happens, we won't need relish or your approval. And don't forget, you're the one who brought me to her in the first place." He held out his hand to me. "You wanna go make out in your room?"

My eyebrows were up to the ceiling, I'm sure, but I took his hand without question and said, "Fuck, yeah," before walking past Jordan and leaving her mouth hanging open in the middle of our kitchen.

Tyler only let go of my hand when we got to my bedroom and he sat on the bed while I closed the door. I turned to find him smirking from the end of the bed, and I leaned against the door for a minute, wondering exactly what the fuck had just happened there.

"I can't believe you said that—no one talks to Jordan that way! I don't even talk to Jordan that way. Not like that. We swear at each other and bitch and shit, but…"

He chuckled. "I couldn't help myself anymore. She's kind of a bitch."

"Yeah, that's how she protects herself."

"You protect yourself, too, and you're not a bitch."

I shrugged. "I didn't always protect myself well."

He nodded and I basically plowed into him, flattening him on the bed. He let out a little, surprised noise but held onto me. I pushed the hair behind my ear and stayed above him, balancing on my arms.

He raised his eyebrows, smirking.

I snorted. "I suppose you think you're gonna get lucky now, huh?"

"I'm already lucky."

I moved a hand to cover his face. "Ugh, Tyler, that was so fucking lame." I rolled off of him, crawling up to the pillow. He followed me, lying next to me, and we were back to the positions we'd been in the night I learned about his brother.

"You think she's gonna be really pissed at me?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so. I think she actually likes you, but she's just cautious, wants to make sure I'm not completely led on or something."

He hummed thoughtfully.

We were both been lying on our backs, but I rolled to my side, playing with the pocket on his shirt. "So, I thought this was gonna include making out. Wasn't that the plan?"

He craned his head down to watch me play with the pocket before his eyes slowly tracked up my arm to my face. "It was, yeah."

Well that's about all it took. I leaned down, flattening my hand on his chest before fisting it in the shirt, and he rolled to his side and then we were completely tangled together again. I wormed a leg between his and he moaned into my mouth when I moved it high enough to rub against his cock. I'd been thinking about what he said for the last three fucking days. I knew exactly what I wanted, exactly what I wanted to ask him for. I just had to figure out when and work up the nerve to do it.

I wasn't modest at all—I was a fucking stripper, and I'd been a whore—I didn't worry about nudity or embarrassment or anything like that, but I also had never been with anyone who set out to make any part of sex about _me_. So I really didn't know when the right time to ask was.

We were both busy with making sure our mouths never left the other's, but in bed here, with me rubbing against him and his hips jerking into me, his mouth starting wandering, pressing kisses all along my jaw and neck, and holy motherfucker, I nearly bucked my whole body into him when he nibbled at my ear. When he moved back to my neck, my mouth just happened to be right near his ear, and I couldn't stop myself anymore. I didn't give a fuck if it was the right time or not.

"Tyler." My voice sounded so much deeper when we did this.

"Mmm?" He didn't stop anything he was doing, which made concentrating much harder.

"I know what I want to ask for."

"Yeah?" He slowly moved back to my mouth, his tongue pushing its way inside.

It was actually kinda funny, I think I asked in a series of one words all mixed in with kisses. "I—" kissing "—want—" more kissing "—your—" still more kissing "—fingers—" fucking hell kissing "—in me." HA! Two words!

His kisses stopped abruptly and he pulled back. I thought he was going to stop completely or something. He looked kinda shocked, then he smirked. "Thinking about it quite a lot, huh?"

I made a point to rub my thigh against the bulge in his jeans. "Yeah."

His eyes fluttered closed and he moaned, shoving back into my thigh.

"Tyler…"

"Yeah?"

"Please?"

He groaned, his forehead pressing against mine. He chuckled. "There you go, full throttle again."

"What do you mean?" This was annoying. I'd just said what I wanted, and I could feel the wetness already in my underwear. Wasn't that how this was supposed to go? I told him and then it happened?

"Let's start a little higher, ok?"

Now, I could have been extremely fucking pissed off by that suggestion, but the way he was cupping my cheek and looking at me all lazy-smile even though I think his dick was gonna break through his pants…

"Trust me, ok?"

And I really fucking did—I had been—so I had to trust that he knew what he was doing, or knew what I needed if I didn't. "Will it end with your fingers in me?"

He nodded twice, just twice. "If you want it to."

"Ok," I breathed out before I really processed the answer.

He shifted my leg out from between his and already I didn't like where this was going because he sat up the next second, and what the fuck was he doing?

"I want to take your shirt off, ok?"

Oh.

I sat up with him and watched in a sort of distant way as he started unbuttoning my shirt. His finger moved my chin up to look at him, his eyes searching. "This ok?"

I nodded, saying quietly, "Yeah."

His eyebrow rose. "You sure?"

"Yes," I said more forcefully.

He smirked, pushing the material back off of my shoulders, and something happened that I don't think ever had before: I felt…I felt fucking exposed, and I'd only lost my shirt.

I lost my shirt every fucking night I was stripping—I lost more than that the nights I'd done more than stripping—but it'd never been like this. Guys didn't remove my clothes because they wanted to uncover anything or give me anything, it was because they wanted to come all over my tits, or hold onto them while they pounded into me.

I actually had to resist trying to cover myself up. I mean, what the fuck was wrong with me? I finally got Tyler to this point and now I wanted to… I didn't know what I wanted. I didn't want to stop, I just didn't know.

"You wanna stop?"

He made this so much harder when he asked so quietly and his hand was rubbing so gently on my arm.

I took a shaky deep breath, closing my eyes. "No. I don't wanna stop. I just…"

"It's cool. Whatever you wanna do is cool."

God, why couldn't he just be like, "_Stop being a fucking baby, you're a fucking stripper!"?_ But, of course, the reason he was different was because he didn't say shit like that.

There was noise, like a rustle of clothing, and I still had my eyes squeezed shut trying to just figure out what the fuck was wrong with me, but the noise sounded a lot like him moving and I started to freak that he was gonna bail, and it forced my eyes open. Just in time to see his shirt go over his head as he tossed it off the bed.

Well.

Couldn't close my eyes now. I'd felt his chest, so I mean, I knew…fuck, that his chest was amazing—defined and full without being overly muscular. I hated guys who were all muscle, or more muscle than anything else. Tyler was perfect; he was thin but still healthy, and more the outline of muscle there. Whatever the fuck you wanted to call it, I liked it, and my hand jerked, immediately wanting to touch him. He had a light dusting of hair that started just below his neck and went down the middle of his chest until it branched, oddly reminding me of a cross—maybe I was trying to have some sort of religious experience. I liked where the hair circled his bellybutton and then kept going—a happy fucking trail for sure.

Dark and black and standing out against his skin was Michael's name, simple black lettering right over his heart. I wanted to trace them, but I couldn't even make my fingers move.

He was being so fucking… Ugh, just everything, like usual, trying to even the field and be just as exposed as I was and the fucking stripper couldn't even lift a hand to touch him.

I was such a freak.

As usual, he did it for me—took one of my hands and laid it flat against his chest, right in the middle. I couldn't meet his eyes—his chest was easier—I could handle looking there right now; I didn't want to watch the question in his eyes, or see the patience there while I overcame some strange hang up I hadn't even known I had. I still couldn't move my hand. His skin was warm, his breathing slow, and my hand moved up and down with the pace of it.

My hand slipped off his chest when he tipped sideways, lying on his side, and I didn't know what was happening now. Was he giving up? I finally tore my eyes to his.

I think this was worse.

While he was lying there, I was still sitting there like a complete and total fucking moron, having a really difficult time not losing my shit sitting there with him in my bra.

His eyes had the same warmth and patience I knew would be there when I met them. I think he was giving me space. "Do you want to take it off?" he asked all calm and shit.

I nodded.

"Take it off and lie down with me."

Honestly, this was easier with directions. And it wasn't like when I'd been ordered to do something before, because Tyler always asked. I popped the clasp on the bra and basically paid as little attention to him as I could while I tossed it off the bed and lay down so our heads were close on the pillow.

One hand snuck underneath my neck and the other he left resting near him. "C'mere."

That's all it took before I was in his arms, my breasts pressed against him, our stomachs flush, and I tangled my legs with his. Warmth spread all over as his hand moved to cup the back of my head, holding me to him, his head under mine, my chin resting on his shoulder.

"I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me," I said before I really meant it to come out.

"Nothing is wrong with you."

I chuckled, but it really wasn't funny. "Yeah, Tyler, there is. I'm a fucking stripper. I'm on display every fucking night I work. This should be the easiest thing in the world for me. I take my clothes off for a living."

He was quiet for a while and I started to wonder if maybe he was going to agree with me.

"This isn't the same, Allison. You're not performing for me. That's an act, this is just us."

I pulled back, rubbing a hand roughly over my face. "But that doesn't make any sense. Why would I feel embarrassed or whatever with you? You've seen me strip! It's not like I don't know that you know I have tits or something."

"You're confusing two different kinds of bare."

I sighed heavily. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"When you go out on stage, what do you think about?"

"I don't think about anything."

"Because…"

"Because that's not really me."

He nodded. "Ok, and here, what were you thinking about?"

"You. Me. Us."

His eyebrows lifted slowly. "And?"

And he left me to work it out again. "And I'm a fucking freak."

He scowled at me. "You detach when you strip. You're right here with me. There's nowhere else to go. Showing me and showing them are two completely different things. You're physically bare when you strip, but they can't have anything else. You're physically bare here, but you're putting yourself out there for me here, too. It's emotional just as much as it is physical. You can't separate the two here."

He was always so fucking logical, like he had that worked out an hour before we even started.

It was kind of annoying.

"It's really kind of fucking annoying how you just throw that shit out like it's so fucking obvious."

He smiled gently. "Would you like me to stop?"

I sighed. "No," I said angrily.

"Am I wrong?"

"Just fucking shut up already and touch me."

He chuckled but his gaze was harder. "You first."

Christ.

Ok. This wasn't hard. 'Cause he was right there and I was practically in touch with every part of his skin that was available. I just had to reach out.

My hands had been pressed against his chest, just resting there, so I slowly started moving them out away from each other until I reached his arms. I trailed them back and let my hand drop so my thumb traced over the letters there. I wondered how many people had seen this permanent mark on his skin…and I think maybe that made me realize what he was talking about. By showing me, he was giving me more than just another area to touch. It was something no one else saw. Something he kept covered up just for him.

My hands dipped lower, thumbs dragging over his nipples and over his pecs. I followed the trail of hair until it separated around his bellybutton and disappeared under his jeans.

I loved his skin. It was rougher than mine, the hair made it rougher, different feel to the surface of it than mine. I loved the way his stomach muscles jumped when I ran my fingers over them, the way his breathing picked up and he shifted closer or ducked away. My fingers were doing that. I made it all the way back to his upper chest and became completely mesmerized by his collarbone.

"Allison—" he was all breathy and I met his eyes "—can I touch you?"

I pressed my lips to his, nodding. "Yeah."

And I meant it. I was less…whatever. I wasn't afraid or really embarrassed anymore, and his hands started moving immediately, pulling at my sides and getting me closer, which I thought was really gonna fuck up his exploring, but whatever.

I flat out chuckled when he went straight for my tits. He was a guy, after all, and he kissed me quickly while he smiled.

I suppose that was the easiest way for me to adapt, for him to just kinda go for it after I was comfortable enough.

I paid attention to my nipples when I masturbated, I knew how sensitive they could be, but it wasn't something I really dwelled on when other things felt better. His hands, though? Fucking hell, his hands were amazing. They felt huge on my body, rougher, the pads of his fingers were rougher, and it was just the idea of his hands being the ones doing this, the feeling of him kneading and caressing. I pushed my whole upper body into his hands and found his mouth, my much smaller fingers scrambling over his back to get him closer, to feel more of him, to press our stomachs closer together, to feel the coarser hairs on his body skim against mine.

I couldn't help the noise that left me when he rolled my nipples between his fingers. My hips bucked up into him, and there was probably some really pathetic desperation there, but it was like it was almost too much. His mouth moved away from mine and down my jaw, quick, nipping kisses and open-mouthed ones that were wet and hot and left me shivering against him. He was moving before I really realized, and I didn't stop him. He sucked right at my pulse point on my neck and then lapped after it, and my hands threaded in his hair and started scraping over his scalp.

I can't even begin to explain the sounds that were coming out of me, but I'd never heard them before, and I hadn't even realized they were mine at first. His head kept moving lower, licking over my collarbone and tracing it that way while his hands rolled and kneaded my breasts before doing the same thing at my sides. His kisses got really gentle as he moved down the middle of my chest, stopping right in between my breasts. I could feel his chin rest there for a minute and I looked down—I'd somehow gotten on my back, and his hair was a complete disaster and it was all my fault and I couldn't really give a shit at all. He was looking up at me and I knew it was for permission—permission he didn't need—and I knew exactly where his mouth was going next and…

…absolutely fucking _nothing_ could have prepared me for it.

He got whatever permission he asked for in my eyes, and after a last flash of his that I saw, his mouth covered my nipple and I totally fucking screamed—the totally fucking good kind of screaming, but a scream anyway.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to pull on his hair or push him closer, and he didn't seem to care either way. I totally lost track of his tongue as it started to swirl and he sucked at the same goddamn time and it was like a blowjob for my nipples. That's basically the only thing I could compare it to, and then I only knew the blowjob from my side. It didn't fucking matter, though, and I didn't even care, I just wanted his mouth to stay there and keep sucking and swirling. He seemed to be able to do like fourteen things at once and all I could do was scream and pant and push more of myself into his mouth and swear and yank on his hair and try not to kick him off the bed.

He was so fucking _good_ at this.

Once one nipple was tingling so badly it was making my vision get all spotty like I wanted to pass out, he just switched to the other one and started up there, pinching the other nipple that was so fucking sensitive that I didn't know if I wanted more attention to it or not. I could feel him straining against his jeans and I kept lifting my hips because the sucking on my nipples was just making the throbbing between my legs worse, and then he started moaning around them, too, and I totally fucking lost it.

I didn't even know it was possible to come from that alone.

God, if he could do that to my tits, what the fuck could he do with the rest of my body?

I was panting like I ran a fucking marathon or something, and it wasn't at all like it usually was when I came. Normally, I was tired, and it was just a nice way to break the tension or relax. This had the completely opposite effect. My nipples felt like they were on fire but tingled like I wanted him to keep doing it. I started squirming under him, wanting the same relief for my clit and the heat between my legs.

I mean I think I was fairly obvious what I wanted, but like always, he still asked. "Do you wanna stop? We can stop for now."

I shook my head. "I want it. I wanna feel your fingers."

I was gonna fucking climb on his hand if he didn't get there soon. I don't think I've ever been this wet and all he did was play with my tits. I could feel the wetness between my thighs, well past soaking my underwear.

"You're sure?"

"Please, Tyler."

I nodded dumbly for, like, ten minutes, as long as it was gonna take to get him to do it.

My hands darted down to undo the button on my jeans as he took care of the zipper, and I started to wiggle out of them, but I didn't even need to because he got into them anyway, and I didn't care at all as long as his fingers got there.

He didn't go as slow this time; he didn't fucking need to. The pads of his fingers ran over the strip of hair there and then his middle finger found my clit and I came again right then. My legs were possessed or something—I had absolutely no control and they were jerking and kicking in all directions.

He waited until all the random spasms seemed to stop and then his finger was at it again, circling and rubbing, and how did he know just how to touch me? His finger moved lower, pushing between my folds—and I think he was panting just as much as I was—my wetness soaking his hand right away. His finger was gentle and tentative, but once he knew how wet I was, he didn't wait and pushed two fingers inside of me. His thumb put pressure on my clit and this was like the ride that didn't end—I came for the third time in, like, ten fucking minutes, and I hadn't even really gotten to enjoy his fingers inside of me.

It was a good thing he was bigger than me, what with all the goddamn thrashing around the bed I was doing, because he just kept holding me down so I didn't do some sort of damage, and he kept his fingers inside until I stopped clenching around him and basically collapsed back into the pillow—I'm not sure you can collapse when you're already on a fucking bed.

I had enough sense to realize that I came three times and he hadn't at all, and that he was licking me off of his fingers. I yanked hard on his hair and he chuckled and moved up to me, pressing his forehead against mine and trying to slow his breathing. I tried to do the same while running my hand down his belly and reaching for his jeans, but he moved my hand away.

I looked up at him, his eyes cloudy but he was smiling broadly. "I'm good."

"You didn't come," I pointed out completely uselessly. I think he got that part.

"I'm good," he insisted.

"Tyler."

"This wasn't about me."

I was going to say something else, but he pressed his lips to mine, and fucking hell, he tasted like me. I moaned into his mouth as my tongue slid along his and could this get any better?

This got even better, right?

I wasn't sure I was gonna survive anything better.

All thought sort of cut off after that and I totally fell asleep but didn't really mean to. I mean, I came three times, so I was happily satisfied, but…I hadn't planned on conking out on him while he was still hard and everything.

I'd have to remember to fix that for him when I was less boneless and more awake.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen **

* * *

**TPOV**

This was actually quite hilarious. Wasn't I supposed to be the one who passed out after orgasm? Wasn't that the guy's job while the girl was left totally unsatisfied?

Not that I was unsatisfied. I mean, certain parts of my anatomy were very unsatisfied and very unhappy with me, but seeing her come was by far the better satisfaction.

O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

_What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?_

The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

_I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:  
And yet I would it were to give again._

Then, after a conversation of less than ten minutes, she suggests marriage the next day. Great play—fucked up marriage principles.

I seriously needed to get off because I was veering into sonnets, and if I continued on that vein I'd probably ask her marry me when she woke up.

God, my balls were never going to talk to me again, and my dick was in revolt—angry and throbbing while my balls were trying to crawl out through my dick because that was a better alternative than settling down.

My whole body felt tight, and I really needed to come or I was never going to be able to lie next to her while she was half-naked and be relaxed. It just wasn't going to happen.

Jerking off next to her while she was sleeping seemed like an incredibly gross and skeevy idea. However, the idea of running to the bathroom with my dick nearly splitting my pants and finding Jordan in the hallway was also completely gross and skeevy. Or not, but just uncomfortable, and I was already uncomfortable enough, and I didn't even know what I was thinking anymore because orgasm was screaming in my brain, and I tried to be as gentle as possible when I snuck off the bed and basically made the maddest dash to the bathroom ever.

Then I'm in there and it's a question of exactly how to do this. I mean I could come in the shower, but again, gross and skeevy to do it while Allison was sleeping and Jordan was wherever, and then I'd have to run the shower to rinse it out. The toilet seemed a likely option, but I was not going to have control of where the come was going to go. Thank God there was a box of tissues in the bathroom—the savior of teenage boys and patient guys who-were-selflessly-getting-their-girls-off-while-not-getting-off-themselves.

I didn't even get my jeans down all the way. I didn't move my boxer-briefs down all the way, either. I just shoved them both down, dropped my hands down, and stroked hard twice, cupping my balls and praying that they would forgive me one day when they were not vibrating as I, thankfully, had enough sense left to grab the handful of tissues I'd taken from the box.

I nearly bit through my lip trying to be quiet.

I was still grunting, though—that couldn't be helped—but I tried to be really quiet about it.

My head swam with the euphoria of the release; so much so that I leaned on the fucking sink because I thought I might just pass out, and then wouldn't that be fun to explain? They would find me sprawled out with my head cracked open and my pants and underwear shoved down my thighs, my junk all hanging out with come-stained tissues in my hand.

At least I would be really relieved.

I took deep breaths and tried to focus on the sound of the water leaking out of the faucet, the steady drip-drip-drip-drip, but that brought back memories of rhythmic releases and I had to switch tactics. I forced myself to move and throw away the tissues and wash my hands and put the lower half of my clothing in order because Allison was sleeping in the next room and I didn't want her to wake up alone; I could pass out in the bed next to her.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I hadn't come that hard in a long fucking time, and it was with her face, her mouth forming my name, her body jerking for me in my mind.

She might just kill me.

And she hadn't even gotten me off! Christ, what was she doing to me? I nearly passed out in her fucking bathroom and it was just from getting _her_ off!

I opened the door as quietly as possible and stuck my head out into the hall before making another dash for Allison's bedroom again. I breathed a huge sigh of relief that I had not encountered Jordan, and that Allison was still sacked out on the bed. I grabbed a light blanket that was tossed over the pile of shit on the chair and covered her with it before I climbed back in the bed as gently as I could. She stirred a little but didn't wake.

It was easier when I wasn't completely strained with the need to come, and with her not half naked next to me. I flipped to my side and watched her sleep for a while, all the features on her face relaxed and sated. She looked almost peaceful, or as damn near to it as I had seen yet.

She took in a deep breath and let it out, her arm flinging up in an arc over her head, and it just made me smile to see her like this. Watching her face made me recall the way she looked when she came, too: her head thrown back, her neck taut and strained. I catalogued everything I could, from the way her legs shifted and kicked when I touched her clit to the moment her toes started curling when I barely even gotten my fingers inside of her.

She'd been so incredibly wet, and it was such a difference from that first day in my apartment when she'd been anything but. I was rather proud of myself for the level of trust and confidence that had grown since then, for her to be that aroused. I liked, in a purely selfish guy-way, that I was the only one in so many years to do so. I loved that she let me, too; that she wanted it, that she asked. I never wanted that to go away, that level of communication.

I sighed and tried to force my mind away from thoughts about what her face would look like with me inside of her, how she would cling to me, how her face would look when she came around me, and how completely awesome that would feel. That was probably a long ways off yet, but I couldn't help my mind going there.

It wasn't about me, either. Or how much I wanted to see that on her face. The only way this was going to work was to go with whatever she wanted, and at a pace she was comfortable with. It had to be about her because it so obviously hadn't been for so long. It had to be.

I had a lot of time in the last three days without seeing her to think about how it might be—doing this with her—or how she would react to certain things. I really didn't know what to expect. I had a feeling that she might be kind of shy—or not shy, but just…exposed. That she could feel differently than being on stage because being with me was the opposite of that. This was her showing me something, sharing something with me, not just a random flash of her tits for someone to ogle over. This was the real her—this wasn't something exploited or for show—and the real _her_ was much more fragile than the one on the stage. She developed this really hard shell to protect herself, but if she let you in, it was heartbreaking to me sometimes the level of question and confusion and doubt that was there because of it.

She forced me to be more thoughtful, to be mindful of everything, so I tried to think more about what I said or how I said it before it came out, and to actually take time to figure out what she might like.

The fact that she hadn't ever been given flowers before, and her intense desire to keep them, the idea for trying to preserve them had been almost a no-brainer. I had no idea if it would work at all, but it was something for us to do together, and if it did work, I knew it would make her really happy. I wanted her to know that relationships could be different; they could be nice.

I'm not sure when exactly I decided to derail my research on flower preservation. I printed the instructions I thought we would need, and since I was already in research mode I found myself looking for literature on stripping.

Yeah, fuck off; I looked up literature on strippers.

Now, granted, my grand pool of opinions and statistics came from the Internet, and inevitably, not all of it was true. What was perhaps the scariest, though, was that the opinions posted on websites were all real people. They were opinions of actual people you could meet on the street. They ran the full gamut, of course—from the ultraconservative who simply dismiss all sexual expression as immoral and indecent, to the crazy whack-jobs who insisted that the majority of strippers felt empowered to the point of emotional satisfaction and sexual gratification, and loved their jobs more than anything else in the entire world. Then there was, of course, the fucking assholes section, which was comprised of the men who assumed because a woman stripped she was fair game for anything they desired, and was nothing more than whatever they wanted to use her for, whether she was willing or not.

I was sort of floored.

And many times disgusted.

And mostly just completely enthralled with the audacity that abounded, and the veracity they felt while trying to assert their 'rightness.' I would have punched most of these people if I met them on the street.

There was an entirely hilarious section of material on "How to Date a Stripper". It was basically an instruction manual for how one could frequent a strip club and then pick a stripper to ask out. Some of the most helpful pearls of wisdom:

_Offer the benefit of the doubt__. Before you even step into a club, make a conscious effort to be open-minded. Don't assume that because they are strippers, they must be promiscuous and unable to make money in any other way. Some dancers are very intelligent and might be doing what they do to pay their own way through college or nursing school. Other dancers might have had very unfortunate circumstances that you couldn't even imagine, and might be working at a club to feed their family or send their child to a good school. It's very easy to judge a book by its cover, but you'll never get very far with a stripper worth dating if you go that route._

I'm embarrassed to even be on the same planet as whoever wrote this. _Some dancers_ are very intelligent, but the other ones are just fucking morons, or they had lives _you couldn't even imagine_ so keep that in mind while _trolling like a fucking pimp._

And a _stripper worth dating_… So not all of them were, then?

_Start a conversation__. Be sweet and non-judgmental._ (Not the murdering rapist you are.) _Lots of these girls are used to getting the worst treatment from men who regard them as a disposable pieces of meat. _(Like this how-to is teaching you a skeevier way to accomplish that.) _ Listen to them, give them a chance to open up and tell you their stories (which are usually interesting), _(And they'd be glad to tell you all about them!)_ and show genuine interest in their activities outside the strip-club. _(Discuss your knitting hobby.) _ Don't focus your attention on their bodies. Everybody likes compliments, but they get them all the time. _(Right, so DON'T, under ANY circumstance, tell her she looks good or anything—that would be epic FAIL!)_ Use eye contact, not leg or bust gawking. Instead of complimenting their body parts, tell them they look good in their new outfit (compliment the color scheme) _(Yes, objectifying them with their fashion is definitely the way to go.)_ or they are really improving a lot on the pole-tricks, stuff like that. _(Yes, stuff related to their stripping. Didn't they just fucking tell me NOT to focus on the stripping? Ignore the giant elephant in the back please!) _Ask them about books, movies, school, family, life and they will find you a lot more interesting to talk to than most of their customers. _(Right, she'll be able to tell what a nice, creepy, asshole you are when you're prodding her for info you can use to your advantage. She won't see that coming at all.)

_Ask her out__. If she isn't willing to meet you outside the club to hang out, she's playing you. _

Yes, they play you when you're a creeper who won't leave them alone and think you'll bury an axe in their backs.

_Be accepting of her job__. If one thing leads to another and you end up dating a stripper, she will appreciate that you understand that she is working and making more money than many family practice physicians. _

Are you _fucking_ kidding me? What stripper makes more than a _doctor_? They tell me later in the warning section that some strippers are only out for sugar daddies to pay for all of their expenses. Why would they need a sugar daddy if they make more than a doctor, I ask?

The best part was that from the entire list of instructions, there wasn't one actual bit of information on how you _date_ the stripper. It doesn't tell you anything about what to do once she's said yes.

Then there was this genius asshole, the one that posed the question: "Are all relationships with strippers doomed to fail?" He insisted that strippers _drive good men away_. They led lifestyles of excess, blamed other people for their problems while secretly knowing that they have no dignity left, and then they don't want to have sex with their boyfriends after they attend all their lavish parties with drugs and alcohol and extravagant gifts.

He insisted that strippers get degraded every day and the hurt stays with them, and then they can't talk to those poor slobs dating them about any of that because the men don't care, or care too much. And yet, they crave constant admiration, but it's not their fault because they have baggage from the past that isn't their fault either. But, they shouldn't use that as an excuse to degrade themselves, and 9 times out of 10—what a wonderful statistic pulled from his ass—they're criminals.

Are you lost yet? Because I was fucking lost after his first sentence.

He summarized that he basically had pity for no one in the world and that it just never works with a stripper and then laid out the gem that six months ago, he'd never even been in a strip club before…which means that the motherfucker had dated a stripper for _less than six fucking months_ and made all these wonderful observations.

Fuck me, I felt like I'd lost IQ points.

I went into this looking for the psychology of stripping, of trying to understand where Allison might be coming from or what she was feeling, or what I could prepare for to make it easier. I opened myself up to a completely different realm because I realized if these opinions were readily available, then Allison was probably aware of them, and then what did she believe about herself?

It was odd in a way how someone could be a completely different person on stage or off with the same past. Intellectually, I understood you could just detach and get lost in something that wasn't you—that she could become _Mallory,_ or whomever she needed to be to do that. I wondered how she got back to Allison after that, though. When she walked off the stage at night, was it just an instant flip back or was there some process to do it? It was sort of like acting, but…not. The concepts were completely confusing to me. I didn't know how she kept all of it straight.

I finally hit on something that seemed real when there were actual accounts from strippers—histories and articles that gave a much better point of view from the actual source. A lot of them did admit that after a night of stripping, sex was not high on their list of priorities and that romance was something that was rarely thought of. That made total sense in Allison's case, and I could recognize that immediately. With her, though, it was so much rawer than that because it wasn't like she just didn't want romance—she'd never fucking had it. Ever.

Some said they had problems reconciling their two egos and that the stripping alter ego would do things or have relationships that the real ego would never have. Most agreed that they found it hard to be both "bad" and "good" at the same time if they were in a relationship; meaning that "bad" girls—their stripping ego—were predetermined to be dirty or hot in bed, but the "good" girls—their real ego—for whatever reason, were supposed to be proper and boring in bed. I had no idea what to expect with Allison, but I don't think that particular concept of different categories of women was specifically related to strippers only.

I think reconciling being "dirty", whatever the fuck that even meant, was something that a lot of women dealt with, and because women I'd dated that weren't strippers weren't completely comfortable all the time with their sexuality, I still really didn't have a handle on Allison's take. She just asked me for what she wanted so far, and she seemed comfortable with that. I just didn't want to fuck it up along the way.

A lot of them expressed feelings of shame and feeling like they were damaged, either alone or in relationships. Most thought that their self-esteem probably had a lot to do with that, or the societal views of anyone who worked in the sexual sector. There were a fair amount who had epiphanies about their own self-worth and "forgiving" themselves, but I started to think a lot of that was bullshit, too. What did someone like Allison need to forgive herself for? She didn't do this because she liked feeling special on stage, or that she wanted a guy to think she was worth something while taking her clothes off. That was just completely antithetical.

I didn't think most women would randomly decide this as a career choice if they had other options they thought were viable. They fell into it like everyone falls into other shit: they needed the money and, for a brief moment, it was great. Then the second night came. And the third. And the hundredth. Or if they make this as a career choice, it's a completely different category of stripping. Not many people made that distinction in their accounts, and the ones who did were obviously stripping in more upscale clubs.

Now I suddenly had thousands of questions I wanted to ask her. What made her start; what she thought she was getting out of it; if she felt constantly demeaned or if she felt sometimes empowered; if she ran into random creeper dudes who actually thought hanging out in a strip club meant instant dating material; if she felt like her worth was less because she was a stripper?

It wasn't like I could fire all of those at her at once, though, and I didn't know how she would react to me asking, either. She would probably want to know why I was asking, and I didn't really know how to answer that. I mean I wanted to know because I wanted to understand her, and I wanted to know because the more information I had, the more I could do to make this easier, the more I would know how she was going to react or what I could expect or what I needed to do so she was ok.

I had good intentions; it just brought up a lot of shit I hadn't thought of. I just didn't want the questions to make it seem like I was doubting or grilling her. It felt like a fine line sometimes.

I wound up napping for a while and she was still out when I woke up. I watched her sleep again for a few minutes before turning my attention to the room, scanning for something to do, and landed on the bookshelf. I eased off the bed and skimmed over the titles for something to read. There was an old, beat-up copy of _Jonathan Livingston Seagull_ on one shelf and I slid it out carefully. There was a bookmark about halfway through the book, and I opened to the page. The bookmark was nothing but a piece of folded notepad paper, yellowing from age, and delicate. It had two quotations from the book written on it in a loopy kind of handwriting: "To fly as fast as thought, to anywhere that is, you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived…" and "The gull sees farthest who flies highest."

I crawled back onto the bed, settling against the wall to read.

Her quiet "Hey" pulled me away from the book a while later.

"Hey." I smiled down at her.

"Sorry," she said, yawning, "I didn't mean to just crash on you like that."

"S'ok."

"Was I asleep long?"

"Few hours."

"Shit. I'm sorry." She pushed herself up to sit against the wall next to me and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. She looked down at my reading material. "Is it good?"

I smiled. "Yeah, it's good. I've read it before, but a long time ago. I thought you read part of it; there's a bookmark." I showed her the marked spot in the book. "I kept your place."

She smiled. "I've never read it. It was my mother's."

"Oh," I said. Well, fuck. My brows pulled down. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize. I wouldn't have moved it otherwise." I held it out to her.

I hadn't meant to screw with family heirlooms or anything that obviously meant enough to her that she carted it with her.

She shook her head. "No, it's fine. I just kind of forgot I have it. Funny, because it's one of the only things of hers I have." I still held it out, but she waved me off again. "No, I'm glad someone is reading it. It's obvious she liked it a lot."

"Why haven't you ever read it?" I hadn't really meant for that to fly out, but sometimes with her my questions just kind of came out of compulsion.

She shrugged. "I'm not really a reader."

"You have a lot of books, though."

She shrugged again. "Yeah, I like them; I just don't read them." She paused for a second and glanced at me before she started again, "Reading takes me a long time. I'm sure a lot of it is because I was never in a school long enough to really learn anything. I have a hard time… Shit, there's a word for it…" She thought a minute before giving up. "Like, it means I don't connect to the shit I read or something."

"Retention?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "I left school when I left Florida and never went back. Jordan helped with getting my GED…" she trailed off.

Telling her about the pretentious schools my parents sent me to was probably not a good follow-up to that admission from her. I blurted again instead, "I got expelled from school after Michael died."

"What?" She turned her head, the question half-disbelief and half-amusement.

I nodded. "Yeah. I just didn't give a shit. I didn't go to class and didn't do any work. Didn't fill out tests and I smoked on the grounds and shit like that. They didn't really call it an official expulsion because there were 'extenuating circumstances'." I made the air-quotes for her. "But they implicitly suggested to my parents that I find a new school."

She chuckled. "And did they find a new school?"

"Yeah. I fucked off just as much from that one, but they weren't as tight with their rules."

She pointed toward the book. "What's it about?"

"Uh, well, it's about a seagull who is more interested in learning more about flight than searching for food. Like, the life of a seagull is supposed to be about finding food and fighting for food and everything revolves around that, but he thinks that's stupid and pointless and he'd rather learn how to fly higher and just keep learning. He'd rather be hungry and learning than boring and fat."

She chuckled.

"He basically becomes an outcast and is shunned from his family and winds up meeting other seagulls like him and just keeps learning and teaching others." I opened to the page that had the bookmark. "I think your mom wrote these quotations in here if this was her book. They're from the story."

She took the book and looked at the words written there. "I didn't know what they meant, so I didn't really think anything of them."

"They're probably two of the most famous from the book. She must have liked them."

Allison smiled, like she made some new connection to her mother that hadn't been there before. She looked over at me. "You wanna see a picture of her?"

"Sure, of course."

She bolted off the bed to the bookshelf and grabbed a box from one of the shelves, opening it and rifling through the stuff inside. She came back to the bed with a small wallet-sized picture of a younger lady and a larger 4x6 with the same lady and a little girl. She handed them both to me.

I chuckled, "You were adorable."

She shrugged.

"She was very pretty," I said quietly, matching Allison and her mom's similar features. "You look a lot like her—same hair color, same nose." I glanced over to Allison and she was looking at the pictures warmly. I was glad she could look at her mom and not have a lot of pain and loss associated with it. Or at least it wasn't there right now. "What was her name?"

"Abby. Well, Abigail, but I guess everyone called her Abby."

"That's pretty, too. She looks like an Abby. She looks like she loved you a lot." I handed the pictures back. "Thanks for showing me."

She nodded.

When she came back to the bed, I handed the book back. "You should read it. I don't think the reading is too difficult. There's a lot of language about flight and wings and wind speed and shit, but you don't really need to know anything about that to know what's happening in the book."

She took it back. "Maybe I will, yeah."

"We could read it together," I offered.

She turned her head to look at me, surprised or appraising or something. She decided on a smile, though. "Thanks. I'd like that."

I nodded and we sat there in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, just…silent. We both chuckled at the same time.

"So…" she started.

"So…" I said back.

I wasn't sure she wanted to talk about what happened or not. I mean, I could have started firing my stripper questions at her, but that seemed misplaced in light of what she just shared with me. I wondered how many people had even seen the picture of her mom. I wondered if Jordan even had.

So I debated with myself about which direction I should take the conversation in when she eliminated the need for me.

"So, I really liked that…with your fingers. And your mouth."

Like I needed clarification. I smirked. "Good. I'm glad you did."

"Yeah." She paused. "Right, so I wanna do it again."

My smirk turned into a full-blown smile. I nodded. "Ok."

She nodded back. "If you want to, that is."

I turned to look at her, but she'd averted her gaze, afraid of my answer or something, even though I already said yes. "I would be happy to."

I could see her smile. "Ok…" She looked at me. "Can we do it now?"

I chuckled, "Yeah, we can do it now."

"Great." I'm pretty sure she was excited—just a little bit—if her bouncing was any indication. "I wanna get you off this time, too. Ok?"

Like my response would be anything but yes? I think she already figured out that if we were trying something and it was new to her, that I didn't expect anything in return, but it was nice that she always seemed to want to. "Yeah, I'm cool with that." I smiled back.

She nodded, smiling, and then stopped. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

She chewed her lip for a second. "I liked your hands on me a lot, but…"

"But what?"

"But…" she took a deep breath and then the rest came out in a tumble, "ButIkindareallyjustwantyourf ingersinmethistime." There was a short pause and then, "Is that ok?"

I nodded, still smiling like it was never going to leave my face. "Yeah, that's ok. Whatever you want." If I even had any doubt that mine was going to leave, her smile was completely infectious, and she couldn't seem to turn it off either. I imagined we looked rather silly sitting there, both of us naked from the waist up save for the blanket she had currently wrapped around her, grinning like idiots.

I figured I still have to be the one who made the first move, so I leaned closer to her and she turned her head to meet my mouth. It wasn't the greatest angle, but it worked well enough. I started sinking down to the bed, not letting my mouth leave hers, and she moved with me, turning her body toward mine, her hands landing on my sides.

It was actually pretty remarkable how well she adapted to things. It was like once a certain barrier was knocked off the list, that was all it took and her comfort level shifted to accommodate. Either that or she was just a master at hiding her nervousness. It was more evident when she talked—maybe it was just easier for her to feel these things, something tactile and real instead of a concept that she couldn't necessarily imagine until it happened.

Whatever the reason, we had this kissing shit nailed down before, now we were mastering it like it was a fucking art form. She would respond and lap at my tongue when I moved it in her mouth, and she would take initiative to push hers where she wanted it in mine, too. Her hands kneaded at my sides and her thumbs flicked up to my nipples before I actually had to remind myself to get my hands busy, too. Her hands on me made me momentarily forgetful, distracted. She seemed fascinated with the tattoo I had of Michael's name, and I think that was probably one of the best things I could have showed her to make her comfortable to start, because it wasn't anything that everyone got to see—it wasn't something that most people ever saw.

Her hands moved up to my neck and face, thumb skimming over the stubble on my cheeks and jaw while her fingers rubbed under my jaw line. I pulled her closer, my arms going around her back and holding her to me so our bodies were flush. Her back was amazingly smooth and elegant, and I kept one hand pressed into the smoothness while I trailed another to the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair. She nipped at my bottom lip and then sucked it into her mouth, and I was suddenly really glad she said that shit about getting me off this time. I was getting hard, but it was slow, and I kind of really liked that—that this wasn't ever fumbled and hurried. We could do that shit later. I liked the measured way of this.

Her hands suddenly pushed against my chest and she pulled away from my mouth. "Tyler?"

"Yeah?" I pulled back to look at her.

"What did you do before? When I fell asleep?"

I snorted, moving a hand to scratch over my hair. "Uhm. I kinda went to the bathroom and jerked off."

She giggled, her hands flexing against my chest.

"I tried to be really quiet," I added.

She laughed harder. "Yeah, I'm sure Jordan will say something if she heard you."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure she will if she did. I don't think she did, though."

She pulled my head back down to her mouth. "I don't care if she did. Just don't stop kissing me."

I smiled against her mouth. "Hadn't planned on it."

We dove back into the kissing and I started moving my hands lower. I spent a few minutes kneading and massaging her breasts on my way down. I rolled her on her back as I stayed on my side, leaning over her so our mouths could stay connected, and flattened my hand over her stomach before angling it down. The lower I got, the more ragged her breathing became and her kisses got much less focused and adorably sloppy.

She never bothered to button up her jeans before she napped, and this would be easier if she would take them off, or move them down, but I didn't know if that was overstepping some line we had for the day or not. I dipped my fingers under the waistband of her underwear, caressing back and forth across her abdomen; long enough that she was starting to squirm, wanting me to move lower. I pulled back from her mouth.

"You wanna take these off or move them down? It'd be—" was as far as I got. I totally prepared reasons for why that'd make this easier, but she didn't seem to need them at all. Her hands were moving to shove them down, along with her underwear, nearly the second I started asking. I liked that she seemed to feel more comfortable with me already, and that the exposed feelings weren't connected to this. Maybe it was just because we had some semblance of this before that it wasn't as new in her mind.

I didn't move from where I was—that we would save for another day—but ran my hand over her mound, allowing my gaze to track to see where my thumb was running through the strip of hair there before I settled over it, forcing my attention back to her face as my fingers rested over her opening. I dipped back to her mouth and she moaned into mine at the contact, and in a lot of ways, she was really easy to please because she'd had too little attention to anything, ever.

She was so fucking responsive.

She opened her legs wider as I trailed one finger through her slit—already so fucking wet—and didn't wait for her to ask this time, I just pushed the finger inside as far as it would go and watched as her face scrunched up on a moan, her lip going behind her teeth and her hips rising against my hand. The second the lip was released, I covered her mouth with mine and added a second finger, curling them up and rubbing inside, quick and hard, and she nearly bit my tongue off as the orgasm ripped through her.

So. Fucking. Responsive.

"Jesus Christ, Tyler!" she yelled, all strained as her muscles clamped on my fingers and I brought her down.

I kept my fingers in her, lazily thrusting and exploring while I kissed her neck and shoulders. She kept squirming when I rubbed up on her g-spot, and I loved the moans that tumbled out through her gasped breathing.

When she came down enough to look at me again, I smiled. "Fun, huh?"

She blew out a breath. "You are so fucking good at that."

I smirked, shrugging. "You're very responsive."

"It feels amazing."

"It should. I'm glad it does."

She pushed up to her elbows. "Let's get you off." She rolled into me and pushed me on my back, mirroring my previous positions.

I chuckled, moving up to rest on my elbows instead. "You don't have to."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but I want to. And if it's only about _me_, then it's not really about _us_ at all, is it?"

Well, she had a point. But that wasn't really...

"I just don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with. Or like it's just a reaction."

"What, like the first time in your apartment?"

"Yes, exactly."

She shook her head. "That's not what this is. I want to."

I watched her eyes, but I couldn't read anything there that wasn't truth. I nodded. "All right." I smirked. "Knock yourself out. Or me."

She smirked evilly. "I could, ya know."

"I have no doubt."

She sat up, folding her legs under her, and the smirk stayed firmly in place. She moved her hand to cover the bulge in my jeans, and I moaned on her first fucking touch. Literally, the first squeeze of her hand, just one—and if I cared about embarrassment, that probably would have been something to catalogue, but instead I chalked it up to the fact that she had several orgasms while I'd been sorely lacking in her touch, and it just felt too fucking good for me _not_ to have some reaction to that.

And this was _through _my fucking jeans.

I was so screwed.

Her gaze flicked to mine as she reached for the button on my pants and, I mean, no resistance here, the zipper was just as easy, and when her eyes cut to mine again, I would daresay there was excitement there.

"Shove them down. Boxers, too."

Oh.

Yes, I liked that quite a fucking lot. Something told me that when she actually hit her stride with this whole sex thing, epic shit was going to take place. She didn't have to tell me twice, either—I could follow instructions very well—I quickly shoved both my jeans and boxer-briefs down to my knees. It was so fucking sexy that not only had she basically ordered me, but that she wasn't inclined to wait even long enough for me to get them all the way off.

I think my whole upper body just gave up with the resting-on-the-elbows thing the minute her hand actually touched me—skin-to-skin, no barrier, no jeans and boxers, nothing, just her incredibly warm, soft, and tiny hand, and Jesus-fuck, this wasn't going to take long at all.

My eyes squeezed shut—there was just no stopping it. I could barely remember to keep breathing, and I was seriously pissed with myself that I wasn't watching this shit live. There was only going to be one first-time like this—technically second time, but that one was completely separate—and I was kind of missing it. I forced my eyes to obey my brain, or my brain to obey my eyes, or whatthefuckever process was supposed to happen in order to get my eyes to watch what the fuck she was doing.

Her palm pressed against the underside of my cock, and she lifted it against my stomach, holding it there while her other hand cupped my sac, and then she fucking started gliding the heel of her palm up and down while keeping my dick trapped against my belly. I had no idea what to even call it, but my thighs were already tensing, and she barely even started.

In my defense, she was next to me naked after having copious amounts of orgasms, and I got off once in a bathroom, by myself, hours ago, and she was doing something amazingly awesome that no woman on earth had ever done to me before, not like this, and just when I thought that it couldn't any better, suddenly her other hand had taken over and there aren't even swear words invented yet for the feeling of that.

Just as abruptly as the palm stroking had started, it was over, and she moved to hold onto the base of my cock. Her other hand had formed a fist and slid thumb-side down over the head of my cock, and it felt like penetration—there was no other way to describe the feeling. So fucking tight at the beginning; tightness I couldn't even imagine right now. I didn't want to be concentrating on what it would feel like to slip inside her, because I had a difficult enough time trying to be patient and hold myself off, and that would just make it fucking worse. But she seemed intent on making me think of nothing else with that fist tight at the start and nothing but snug, blissful friction after it.

Plus, she was naked. Completely naked and leaning over me and naked and…yeah.

She was also completely relentless—and naked—and I think paying me back a little for the whole multiple orgasm thing because when my orgasm ripped itself out of me, her strokes didn't change at all, they were just as fast and hard as they had been, and that just made my body want to push harder.

I wasn't the only one with skills at getting people off.

I couldn't breathe, or see, or talk, or move, or form any coherent thought. It felt like my entire lower half was just one big constricted and tense jumble of complete sexual anarchy—and it was fucking amazing!

I'd tell her that just as soon as I could breathe, see, talk, move, and/or form a coherent thought.

I attempted to lift my head and test my vision, and did it in time to see her fingers swiping through the come on my stomach. Allison met my eyes and my vision was somewhat choppy, along with my brain function, but her fingers went to her mouth before she was fucking licking it off of my stomach, and all I could do was groan pitifully and watch. I may have managed an entirely too quiet "Fuck" in there.

She smirked and dipped again, another blazingly wet hot-one-second-and-cool-the-next pass with her tongue.

"Fun, huh?" she threw back at me.

I meant to chuckle, but I think it was just more groaning. The more she did, the more I wanted. If she didn't knock that sexy licking shit off, I was gonna be hard again, and I wasn't sure I'd survive another orgasm like that.

I had all this really important shit I really wanted to tell her—like how amazingly sexy she looked right now, and how her tongue licking her lips right after licking come off of my stomach was an image that was going to be burned into my eyelids whenever I closed my eyes. I wanted to thank her for ridiculous things like letting me randomly bring over flower preservation kits, or embarking on ice skating adventures, and being mostly enthusiastic about them when she could have told me to fuck off. I wanted to thank her for trusting me and letting me behind the wall that she kept other people out with. I wanted to thank her for baring herself completely to me, not only physically but also on every other level here right now. I wanted to thank her for being herself when she could have just played along—she could have pretended with me. I think her not pretending kept me honest, kept me conscious and aware of what she needed. It made me want to be good enough, to be the kind of person she never thought she'd have but totally deserved.

I wanted to thank her for being the first person in years, other than Caroline, who I was truly happy getting out of bed for, that I looked forward to spending time with.

Instead, I let her finish cleaning me up and watched drowsily as she wrestled my boxers and jeans off the rest of the way before nudging me to move under the covers. She joined me a second later and I loved that it seemed just a given now that she'd snuggle naked into my chest this way as we both drifted off to sleep again.

The warmth of her skin pressing into mine was a privilege I never wanted to lose.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen **

* * *

**Happy New Year! This chapter is currently unbeta-ed, so all errors are mine. It will be replaced and updated once the beta-ed version is ready.  
**

* * *

**APOV**

I was starting to realize that what Jeremy and I did together was very… simple. Innocent, even. I guess I'd always thought about it that way; that had been the only thing sexual in my life that was real or pure until now. But it was also completely one-sided. Jeremy couldn't ever get hard in the normal way, and I think we were both too young to realize that you could get off other ways. I didn't have the same experience I had now, either. I knew a fuckton of ways to get guys off.

It wasn't really about that though. Obviously Tyler either had a lot of experience, or he just learned a lot some other way. But it was the first time I hadn't thought about nothing when I got somebody off. I thought about Tyler and what he might like and how it would feel, and I tried to give him back what he'd given me. If the way he was currently completely passed out under me was any evidence, I must have done a good job.

I smirked looking up at him from my spot on his chest. He couldn't even talk when it was over. Of course, he'd been extremely focused on me for, like, ever, too. He hadn't thought about himself at all, or if he did, he'd done it alone. I'd never met someone who'd put themselves second to _me_ before. And because he did that, I wanted him to feel just as good as I did. He looked at me sometimes, like after he'd come when he was all tired and satisfied, like he wanted to say something to me, but didn't then. It wasn't because he wasn't a talker; he talked to me more than any other guy I'd ever known. But it was like he didn't know how I'd take it or he didn't think it was the right time. It made me curious sometimes what was going on in his head when he looked like that, but I never asked. Now he'd just looked drained, but happily so, slow and sluggish from coming, and happy to cuddle with me.

_Cuddle with me_. Jesus Christ, I _cuddled_ now. And I liked it! It was him though; it was Tyler. I don't think I would have liked cuddling with someone else. Most guys I met didn't put off a cuddling vibe. Not that Tyler did either, but he was… he was sensitive. And I'd spent my entire life without sensitivity, so having this balance with Tyler where it was ok to be…all touch-y feel-y, while not being love-y dove-y at the same time, was so…nice. And I actually felt like I understood the difference. That there even could be a difference.

I couldn't decide what I liked the best with him. Sexually, it felt like he'd opened a whole new dimension to me, because I think I removed myself so much from anything with sex with another person for so long, if he hadn't been so patient and willing to take things so slowly, I wouldn't have been able to connect with him any better than I had anyone else. I liked his mouth and hands on my tits but his fingers inside me were better, and imagining his mouth and fingers together on my pussy was almost too much to hope for, but it was so the next fucking thing I was asking for. His fingers were long and they knew exactly where to move. The spot inside me that he found was completely shocking in the best way, and that's sort of what it felt like being with Tyler all the time. Constant shocks but better than I ever could have thought of.

It was kinda fucking weird that lying here naked with him didn't seem weird itself. Given that I'd been sort of—I don't even know what to call it—it wasn't that I was afraid of Tyler seeing me naked, and what he'd said to me about how I go someplace else in my head when I strip made sense, but, I dunno if it was just nervousness or if I was worried about what he'd think of me. It was just the first time that I'd ever been uncomfortable or unsure of myself with my body. It wasn't a worth thing, I didn't have some weird psycho thing about not being good enough, really, or maybe that was part of it, I don't really know, but I think it was more just…doubt. I think I had a little bit of doubt, and sometimes, it was always there with him because I couldn't work out how I'd gotten so lucky with him. So I think it all just kind of hit me at that moment, and he fixed it right away of course, in that awesome way he had where he just seemed to make everything make sense immediately. In a strange way, that I did feel like that almost made it easier for me—it was so different; feeling that way was so different and new and strange, that it had to mean this was something completely out of the ordinary for me. It had to mean that it meant something more. And after that, I didn't care as much. I knew he was accepting me, and he liked my body. And it felt almost natural with him.

Cuddling wasn't a big part of prostitution. Occasionally I got the dude that for whatever reason wanted to spend the night with me, or paid extra to do some weird shit after orgasm, but most were done the minute they came. They paid and everything was over. But even the dudes that paid for me to stay over, there was no cuddling. There was no sleeping all tangled together. I stayed on my side and he stayed on his, and there was no crossing that invisible line, and there was no actual sleeping on my part, because the asshole could rip me off that way. Lying here with Tyler, feeling my head move up and down with the air moving in and out of his chest was so…calming. And peaceful. My room had never felt this peaceful. I'd never felt this peaceful. And it really had nothing to do with getting off all those times. That felt great of course, too. But it was just nice to share the bed with him, and to share it just because we both wanted to be there. It was nice to feel his skin under my fingers, to feel how warm his body was, to feel his hand curled around my back, so heavy and big and comfortable. This felt comfortable. Maybe more comfortable than it should have been. Knowing he'd be there when I woke up was a promise I'd never had before.

I'd started to trust him a while ago. He was working his way in to something much more though. A level that no one else had gotten freely from me since my mother died. I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about her anymore. That had been most of my childhood up to a certain point. The idea that your mother had been with you one second and then gone the next wasn't one that I really understood at four. People tell you all kinds of shit; like she'd gone to heaven, or she wasn't going to be around anymore; whatever it took to get you to stop asking questions, basically. And really, I think things had been good when I lived with my grandmother, but it had all gone downhill from there. By eight, I had a much better understanding of what it meant to be an orphan that no one wanted to be responsible for. And about that time, I got really angry. And I stayed that way for years. Because I hadn't done anything to get thrown into the foster system. It just worked out that who they gave me to hadn't wanted me around. No matter how angry I got though, I was never angry at my mom. I thought about her constantly; trying to remember what she was like, asking what she was like; trying to answer questions that people asked or that I asked myself when it was time to draw pictures of your family and shit like that. I realized sometime in my teens that I'd never be able to answer them because I'd never gotten the chance to know her. And somewhere around that time, I sort of just accepted that, and then I wasn't angry anymore. If I really thought about it, that was around the same time I ran away from Florida, and maybe it was less letting go of the anger and just accepting that I'd always be disconnected. I suppose that made my career choice easier, too. I'd already learned how to just let go, how to make myself somewhere else in my head. The switch to being a hooker wasn't that difficult then.

I'd never shown anyone her picture. Not even Jordan knew I had it. Doug and Lois hadn't seen it. I'd never thought to show anyone else. But I wanted Tyler to know what she looked like, to have some image in his head when I talked about her because he was the only one who really cared to ask. And because he'd lost someone, it felt easier to show him. Like he already knew how I'd feel about it or how special that one thing can become. I really had forgotten I had her book. It was just one of those things that always came with me; it was always in the grab-and-go bag if shit went south. That probably added to the beat up look it had, always being stuffed somewhere. New York was the first time it had an actual home, an actual place on a shelf. I'd never felt settled enough anywhere else to take it out of the bag.

It was funny that of all the books on the shelf, that had been the one he picked to occupy himself.

Telling Tyler the truth was always so easy because he never made me feel stupid or beneath him or that what I said didn't totally make sense. So telling him the reason why I never read just sort of tumbled out like most shit did. And like usual, he just took it in stride and then turned it around for me again. He had a habit of doing that. And I found, for like the first time ever, that reading didn't sound so bad. I was actually looking forward to reading it with him, and I couldn't say I'd ever said that before. I never wanted to read things; not because I didn't like to read, but because it took me so much longer to put everything together. It was just easier to never start. That's why recipe books were so much easier. That's why I liked them. They gave you a simple list to follow, and instructions that were to the point. Everything was laid out. There wasn't anything to put together if you followed the directions.

I knew the bookmark had to be hers, and was probably in her handwriting, but because I'd never read it, the lines seemed random and nothing for me to connect with. Our handwriting was nothing alike; hers was neat and pretty, and mine was anything but that. I wondered after we read it if I'd feel like I knew something else about her, or feel similar, feel like those words were important enough to write down. Or I wondered if we would have thought the same things about those lines.

I had no idea what to expect, but I as I drifted off on Tyler's chest, I was actually excited to find out.

My nap was shorter than Tyler's. When I woke up again, he was still sleeping, and it was kind of funny how it seemed like we kept switching. I didn't feel like moving. It was warm here with him and I didn't want that connection to end. My hand had landed on his chest while I was sleeping, with his on top of mine. That made me smile because it seemed like we'd both done it without knowing.

I realized I had sort of a perfect opportunity here to look at him totally unnoticed. He would never know and I wouldn't have to worry about him seeing me look at him. Hey, I'm sure he checked out the goods when he had the chance, too. He'd covered me up with the blanket after all. Of course, I hadn't been completely naked at the time either. So if I was quiet enough, and kept moving to a minimum, he'd just go on sleeping none the wiser.

I had a nice view of his chest already from where I was and my opinion of it hadn't changed or anything. I carefully pulled my hand out from under his and was happy that he didn't move or seem to notice. Once my hand was free, I had to stop myself from running it over the planes of his chest, over his nipples, over the hair that tickled against my skin. I realized this was kind of a bad idea when most of my looking just made me want to touch or kiss or lick. I found his shoulders oddly attractive and distracting, and I think it was because my head rested somewhere between his chest and shoulders. If I turned my head up, I could see the stubble that had filled out during the day. He looked incredibly good with scruff. Some people looked dirty or skeevy with the scruffy look, but not Tyler. Tyler looked like he was made to have it. It was seriously fucking sexy. And I'd never really gotten to fully appreciate it before. Sure, he had stubble other times we were together, but I was never this close or felt it. I had to force my hand away again because I really wanted to feel the roughness of the short hair on my fingers. I don't think I'd ever in my life referred to a guy as handsome, but the word wouldn't get out of my head when thinking about Tyler. At the same time, there was a—I didn't know what word to use, because graceful and delicate sounded lame or gay, and he was neither; sensitive worked, but I didn't really mean it in that same way. Whatever the word, he could be both. He had the best of both—rough and sensitive at the same time. His body fit him perfectly because he had the solidness and broadness of a guy, but his hands were incredibly gentle and patient. I liked the differences; I liked the fact that he was complicated and still completely simple for me to understand. It felt like we fit together that way. Because I was or could be completely cold to the outside world if I needed to be; I could get lost in my head and do whatever I needed to, but I was still just a girl inside, and being with him was the first time I felt like someone realized that, and was still able to see me in here.

His jaw was positively fuckable. And his mouth was perfect. Perfect shape. Perfect feel. Perfect when he kissed me, and when it was on my body. I wanted to feel his mouth on me with the stubble there, to feel the burn and the scratchiness against my skin. Watching him, it felt like if someone were looking at us, it would look like we belonged here together, like we fit.

I couldn't remember the last time I felt like I fit somewhere.

I liked fitting with him.

Naturally thoughts of fitting with him made me want to pull back the covers. We weren't totally covered to begin with, but enough that if I wanted to take a peek, I had to uncover us. I'd seen a ton of cock in my life given what I'd done for a living. Huge, big, medium, small, tiny, miniscule, White, Black, Latino, Asian, cut, uncut, skinny, thick, veined, bent, straight. Every color, type, size, shape, culture, guys who didn't speak English, guys with accents, piercings, tattoos, clean, dirty, shaved, hairy, big balls, tiny balls, one ball. The list was endless and I'd seen them all. I literally think over the course of the years I was a whore, I had seen every cock imaginable only to be surprised one random Tuesday night to find something I'd never seen before. Dudes were weird. There was just no two ways about it. And it sort of got to be a game in a way: _What could possibly shock Allison tonight?_ And in the end, even that got to be boring, because they were all the same. No matter what size or shape or color or what country the guy came from, what he wanted was the same.

I'd only given Tyler two handjobs; one of which had been while he was still wearing pants, and this one, I was more focused on what I was doing to him than thoroughly checking him out. He was neatly trimmed and I'd expected no less, uncut, and that always made it easier to get a guy off—no lube was required. Ideas also forced their way immediately because the head of his cock would be more sensitive, and I could do a lot of things he'd appreciate with that knowledge. He filled my hand, and was big enough without being huge. Now his cock was resting in the groove between his hip and his thigh and I caught myself running my hand down his stomach, stopping before I reached it.

I realized suddenly that I really wanted to touch Tyler. I wanted Tyler. I don't think I ever wanted a guy before. I wanted to know what it would feel like to fuck him. I actually thought about that. I never thought about guys like that before. I never had anyone that it seemed possible with. I wanted to know what he'd taste like, and how he'd fill out in my mouth if I was blowing him. I wanted to try tricks that I knew would get him off, not because I wanted him to get off and get out, but because I wanted him to feel good. Just the idea that _I wanted_ at all… that was kind of a big—

The hand on my back moved to cup the back of my head. "You perving on my cock?"

I jumped. Literally jolted on his chest. He tightened his grip on me. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

I hadn't even realized he'd woken up. I must have been really into my…thought process. I chuckled. "Uhm…kinda?"

The hand that had been resting on top of mine moved hair out of my face so he could see me better. "Feel free to perv all you want."

I looked up at him. He looked drowsy, but awake, and he was smiling at me. Content. He looked like I felt right now. It was odd how he could make me feel that way in such a short amount of time.

"You totally checked me out, too. Don't even deny it."

His smile turned into more of a smirk. "Well, only the top half of you was uncovered, so I think you have an advantage."

I shrugged.

"So, is it approved then, or you wanna check it out some more?"

"I think I'll have to check it out more, later. I'll let you know if it's passed inspection then."

He laughed. "Looking forward to it."

"Me, too." I sort of meant to say that in my head, and instead it snuck out. I was smiling though, and when I risked a glance up, he was, too.

"You work tomorrow?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. You?"

"Yeah, but only until three. You wanna have dinner?"

"You want me to make dinner?"

"No, I want to take you out to dinner."

I smiled. "Ok." Who would ever say no to eating out over cooking?

"You pick."

I nodded. "I'll think about it." He gasped and I looked up at him. "What?"

"Did you just agree to think about it and not say 'I don't care, Tyler' or 'I don't know where to pick, Tyler?' Because the orgasm may have made me delusional and I'm hearing things."

I brought my hand back up his stomach slowly until I got to his chest and then totally pinched and twisted his nipple.

"OW!"

I giggled. "If you ever want that cock inspection to continue, you'll watch it."

He covered the nipple with his hand and scowled at me for all of a few seconds. "In the interest of the cock inspection, I'll let it go."

"Good plan."

"So how long were you checking out the goods before I woke up?"

"Not long. I slept for a while, too." I paused, watching him for a second. "I…I like sleeping with you."

I was going to fix that—fix what I really meant. Because I didn't mean sleeping with him, like, sex, I just meant I liked sleeping with him there with me. Just sleeping. But I didn't need to.

"I like sleeping with you, too," he said, and I think he knew exactly what I'd meant. "Have you had that before?"

I shook my head.

"It's nice just having someone there sometimes. Just being close," he said, quietly. "You miss it when you don't have it."

I shrugged. "I didn't know what I was missing really, but yeah, I'd miss it now."

"You haven't been close to a lot of people, have you?"

I shook my head again.

He tightened his grip on me, pulling me closer to him. "Well, I'm glad you are with me now."

I let out a breath against his chest. "Yeah, me, too," I said quietly. "Does it show?" I asked.

"Does what show?"

"That I haven't…done this before." I wasn't sure why I asked that. I didn't really want to know the answer.

"No," he said quietly. "You're good with close. At least with me you are. I was just curious. I didn't mean anything by it."

"No, I know," I said back. It wasn't that I was nervous about doing stuff right or wrong with him anymore. I just wondered sometimes if the way I reacted was normal or what he was used to or whatever.

His thumb ran up and down my arm slowly and I found it incredibly relaxing. "You still wanna read today?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Sure," I said. "I'd like that."

"Yeah, we should probably get dressed, though. I don't think _my_ retention or explanation will be very good if you're naked next to me. I can tell you I won't be thinking about the seagulls much."

I snorted. "Yeah, ok. You're probably right." I shifted away from his chest, sitting up halfway and he leaned over and pressed a kiss to my lips. I still wasn't used to that, really. I mean, if we were fooling around, kissing was normal now, but just…out of the blue or for no reason, it threw me a little. I wished my fucking reactions wouldn't have been so obvious sometimes. I'd just got done asking that goddamn question. I was so obvious.

"That ok?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, it's great. It's me; I'm just not used to that kind of…"

"Affection?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess." I smiled. "I think it'll just take me a while to get used to it. I like it," I added quickly, I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "I'm just not used to it being given," I let my hand flail, "that freely or something."

He nodded. "I'm good with freely given affection."

I smiled. "Good. That's good."

"Anytime you wanna practice, you just let me know. Or I'll spring it on 'ya."

I chuckled. "Yeah, that'd be awesome. Thanks."

He leaned over again. More free affection. "Anytime."

These kisses were soft and kinda made me want to take deep, sigh-filled breaths. I liked when he rested his forehead against mine after. There was just something so…gentle about it. He pulled back with a sigh, and that made me smile, because he must have felt the same way, too. He grabbed his pants with the boxer-briefs still tucked inside of them and stepped into them before searching for his shirt on the bed. And while I dressed, I realized that I kinda just wanted to undress him again. It was such an odd feeling for me to want to do that to anyone.

We were mostly quiet while we got dressed, but we smiled at each other a lot when our eyes met.

"You wanna read in here or somewhere else?"

I really didn't want to read with him in front of Jordan. It wasn't that she cared, but I just didn't want to. I didn't want to explain why we were reading it or show her the picture or anything; I just wanted that for me. Just for Tyler and me. "I'd rather read here," I answered.

He nodded and grabbed the book from the nightstand, crawling back onto the bed and settled against the wall. I joined him a few seconds later and sat next to him, but I wasn't as close as we had been. He turned his head to look at me and then he looked at the space and jerked his head. "C'mere."

I smiled and scooted closer and eventually laid my head against his shoulder. He smiled down at me and pressed a kiss into my forehead. "K, so how do you wanna do this? You want to read and I can tell you shit if you don't know what they mean or you miss something?"

Oh, shit. I hadn't really thought about that. I didn't want to read it. I thought he was doing the reading and I could just listen. I liked reading out loud even less than I liked reading itself. I felt stupid when I read out loud; like I was back in some fucking classroom with kids who didn't even know who the fuck I was, but were just as happy to be dickheads anyway. No. The thought of reading _to _him was really fucking scary. Like, break-out-in-a-cold-sweat kind of scary. "N-no," fuck me, I was already stumbling and I hadn't even read anything. "I think it'd be better if you read. I think I pick up more that way." That wasn't really a total lie. I did think that I learned better if I listened or watched than read shit.

I must have looked as scared as I felt inside because his hand reached up to touch my cheek. "Stop me if you miss something."

I nodded, relieved that he wasn't going to push it. Maybe some day I'd be ready for that, but it wasn't today.

And then he just started reading. No more questions or anything; just read the title of the book and told me it was _Part_ _One_ and then words just flew out.

_It was morning, and the new sun sparkled gold across the ripples of a gentle sea. A mile from shore a fishing boat chummed the water, and the word for Breakfast Flock flashed through the air, till a crowd of a thousand seagulls came to dodge and fight for bits of food. It was another busy day beginning. But way off alone, out by himself beyond boat and shore, Jonathan Livingston Seagull was practicing. A hundred feet in the sky he lowered his webbed feet, lifted his beak, and strained to hold a painful hard twisting curve through his wings. _

I loved the rhythm of Tyler's voice. He was a really good reader. And I was really glad he asked if I wanted to read or if he should. His pace was smooth and not too fast, but not too slow either; and he'd stop and let me ask him anything I wanted, even if it was a stupid thing to ask or something that I probably should have gotten. He explained it anyway. His voice was quiet and really soothing.

Tyler was right, too; there was a lot of shit in the book about wings and wind speed and air currents or some shit. Stuff that I really didn't care to understand even if it was in the book. It didn't seem important. And I found that if I followed along where he was reading, the words were much easier; they made more sense. Reading made more sense if I could follow what he was already doing. And the longer he read, the easier it seemed for me. It was the first time I'd ever remembered enjoying reading, even if I wasn't doing it all myself. It was the first time that I didn't feel like I was having a hard time getting the idea of the story. There were pictures of seagulls every few pages of reading, and I realized that Tyler had been holding the book purposely far over so that I could see not only the pictures but the words, too.

We read all of _Part One_ and then stopped for the day. And I felt strangely successful that we'd made it through a part of the book and I hadn't been frustrated or felt stupid. I realized that he'd done the reading, but I felt like I still had a part in reading it. I don't think I really understood yet why my mother liked the book so much, or what the quotes meant, but I wasn't dreading reading the rest and finding out either.

I made us dinner, and was sort of disappointed that he had to work the next day when I was off. I didn't always get a lot of days off in a row together. It would have been nice to spend another whole day with him, but I didn't want him to blow off work, and I kinda thought he would have if I would have said something.

I thought about asking if he wanted to sleep over, but I couldn't come up with a decent way of asking without it sounding desperate or stupid. So when he said, "I should go." I sighed, but I didn't ask him to stay.

He kissed me twice. Once at the door while I held it open, and once when he leaned back in from the hall. He didn't want to leave either.

"Goodnight, Allison."

"Night, Tyler."

After he left, I really fucking wished I would have asked him to stay. It was weird that the bed felt emptier when he'd only been in it for such a short time, wasn't it?

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

A/N: Okie dokie - here's the plan. This is another unbeta-ed chapter. All mistakes are my own. We're shooting for a posting schedule this year of once a week or once every other. And I'm going to let the beta catch up with these two chapters now, and get Seventeen ready, and then I'll post again. We don't have a date for when Seventeen will go live yet, but it will be within the next few weeks. :) **  
**

* * *

**TPOV**

I couldn't contain my sense of contentment when I left her apartment. I couldn't remember a time when I'd felt this happy; or it'd been so many years, that I couldn't remember what it felt like before. I walked an extra eight blocks because I was so involved with my happy thinking that I basically blew past the street I needed to turn on to get to my apartment and wound up having to double back in a big square. I thought about going to the diner and writing to Michael, to pour out on the paper the elatedness and euphoric sense of rightness that seemed to be overcoming me, but I was too jittery and excited to sit still long enough. Instead, I sort of talked to him in my head. And basically the entire conversation was based around the idea that I was pretty sure I was falling in love. And the bittersweet part of it was that he wasn't around for me to talk to about it. My one-sided conversation with him was great for an outlet, but I couldn't ask his advice, I couldn't ask if he'd ever been I love, I didn't even know if he'd felt this way about a girl; I'd been too young before he died to have these kinds of feelings. It would be pointless talking to Aidan, regardless of how good a friend he was; Aidan didn't really _do_ love. Aidan did a lot of fucking, and I have no idea how he really swung that either. He was obnoxious and kind of annoying, but I suppose he had a certain charm. But it wasn't like I could sit down and have a serious conversation about it with him. Asking my father was like the punch line to some massive cosmic joke, and it was just be weird asking my mother. Our relationship didn't really revolve around me asking her for love advice. I seriously debated discussing it with Caroline, but she was really too young to burden with her screw-up brother's love life.

So I was pretty much on my own. And I couldn't come to any other conclusion.

I was already in so far that I didn't think surfacing was possible, and I didn't want to. I'd been attracted to her originally, stupefied by her attitude later, annoyed and angered, completely remorseful, and after that, I'd settled into this cozy place where everything just seemed better or right or aligned when I was with her. I felt unbalanced when I didn't see her. I felt like I always left part of me there. There was this ease to being with her that I didn't normally find with people, much less someone I was attracted to.

So over the course of the last few hours, I think I'd solidified that thought and feeling. In the past, when I'd taken women home, there wasn't a relationship there ever. Sure, they slept in my bed and sometimes we shared it, but more often then not, I was gone long before they ever woke up; which made me basically a complete dick, but I didn't want to get close to people. It was easier to get the release I needed and show them a good time but not have the attachment in the morning. I didn't want that with Allison. I liked feeling her next to me, pressed against me. There was a warmth in bed with her that wasn't there with other people; a warmth that never had been. I suppose it was because I really felt nothing for those other women, but the pleasantness of just sharing the bed with her was sort of ridiculous.

And when ridiculously pleasant, happy, opulent warmth was what one was feeling when simply sharing a bed space, they'd probably been smacked with the spirit of love.

I couldn't stop smiling, either. I don't know why exactly, what made today different, but I felt like she crossed some sort of barrier with me, like the trust I wanted her to have in me had been realized. And it gave her the freedom to feel like she could really do or get what she wanted. Just the simple showing of her mother's picture—I felt an immense sense of gratification. And I was gonna get her a frame for those pictures.

It was just stupid shit like that; when I actually not only thought about, but _wanted_ to go out and get her a frame, like, right now, that told me I'd been hit in the face with a brick of love. I mean, who the hell wants to go out and get a frame at whatever hour of the night it was and seriously considers turning around and walking another ridiculous amount of blocks just to get one that same night? Crazy-love-people.

It was oddly liberating feeling this way, and still ironic that it was the most stable I'd felt in years. It was probably odd that a relationship, which, I hadn't even discussed with her if she considered it one, but I thought she probably did, that was highly irregular with two very… whatever kind of people we were, wound up being the thing in my life that felt most calm, most under control.

I wasn't even sure I had things under control in terms of the inner workings of the dynamics here. I mean, she dictated whatever went on; I left that up to her. And things were moving faster than I imagined. It was sort of like when she learned to trust me, the hesitance went away. And once she'd pushed past the first wall of things sexual, and we kept adding things slowly, now it was a snowball, and it kept getting larger the more it rolled down the hill. I was fine with the pace; whatever it was, but I didn't want the snowball to outpace the hill, either.

I think she told me things she'd never told anyone else, and I felt both honored and slightly terrified by that. Because I didn't want to fail to have an answer for her. And I think there was a lot in her past that I might not have an answer for. I hoped that if that point came, my being there would be enough. Nothing really surprised me. I wasn't naïve and even if I came from a different background than she did, I was well aware of what the world could be like. So my reactions to what she told me were really important, and I'd learned my lesson the first time when she'd told me she was a stripper. I wouldn't make that mistake again and overreact to the point of near insanity. I made a promise to myself, and to her without her knowing, that overreaction would not be my modus operandi, and I would try to keep understanding and rationalism at all times. She couldn't change her past and neither could I, and pasts didn't need to ruin futures.

So the reading thing didn't shock me at all. Every new bit of information that she gave me always seemed to fit into the larger puzzle. And when she sort of panicked about reading aloud, I didn't push, and I just tried to make it as easy as I could. I think she actually enjoyed an activity that she normally loathed. So that meant I'd done a good job. I found I really enjoyed her questions when she asked them. And despite what she thought, none of them were dumb.

After dinner, I don't think I can recall a time when I'd wanted to leave a place less. I think she felt the same way, which made my elation level soar like some Jonathan Livingston Seagull reference that just made me seem more like a sappy, lovesick moron.

I seriously considered telling her that I'd call in sick for work or come up with a reasonable excuse just to spend the entire day together again, but I didn't know if suggesting that would be well received or not. I couldn't assume that just because she had another entire day off that she didn't already have plans or shit to do, and that she'd set all that aside just to lie in bed with me all day. And it wasn't even the sex shit; which, God, I was so far gone already if I was admitting it had nothing to do with anything sexual, but it really wasn't. It was just being with her.

I was in love with her and with being with her.

It took me an hour to shelve a shipment of books that would normally have taken me fifteen minutes, and I totally caved and called her on my break. I called under the guise of confirming our time, which was basically right after I was done with work, but I really just wanted to hear her voice and was so pathetically enamored that I couldn't wait a few hours to hear it live.

I didn't bother going home after work; I just went straight to her apartment. I still had my fucking nametag on when I knocked on her door and I really don't think she noticed. I was basically leaning in the doorway before she opened the door and the second it was open, I was through it, and I felt that sense of calm just settle over me along with some seriously amped hormones. I couldn't really reconcile how I could feel completely relaxed and at ease with her and still completely horny and crazy and excited at the same time. All of those didn't seem to relate well together, but it was just the way I felt. The newness of everything with her, the feeling of her body under my fingers and her lips crashing into mine; it was seriously blissful intoxication.

So basically two minutes in the door, I wanted to help her lose clothing and have her halfway to orgasm inside the next five, but fucking Jordan always seemed to have impeccably horrible timing.

"So, can I call you lover boy yet?" she asked as we jumped away from each other like we'd been caught by our fucking parents. Christ.

I almost couldn't even answer her back because Allison was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and her lips were all swollen and my eyes were drawn only there and my brain was totally connected to only my dick and nothing else. Fuck. Focus. I cleared my throat, stepping back closer to Allison. "You really gotta a new line, Jordan. That one's getting old."

"Still works for me," she said smugly.

"Nah, now it's just getting pathetic."

"Kiss my ass, Tyler."

"Fuck off, Jordan."

And what'dya know, she actually did. Allison was smirking at me and I really couldn't help myself. I went right back to shoving my tongue in her mouth and sucking her lip in between mine, and there was zero resistance on her part. She seemed to be as happy to see me as I was to see her. I slowed the kisses, trying to remember that we had dinner to get to, and that we didn't have to be all over each other every minute and I think she actually whimpered when I pulled back.

I smiled. "Did you decide where you wanted to go for dinner?"

She sighed at me. "Ugh. Yeah."

I snorted. "We'll get back to that."

She nodded. "Right. Yeah. Uh, I thought maybe Italian. There's a place right around the corner that has really great food."

"Great. Grab your jacket. Let's go."

The walk over was blessedly short; the restaurant was literally right around the corner from her apartment. I lit a cigarette as we got to the street and I didn't even have time to finish the whole thing.

We got a booth near the back and I ordered lasagna while Allison settled on spaghetti and meatballs. While we waited for the food, she pointed to my shirt finally, noticing my nametag or at least acknowledging it. "How was work?"

I grabbed the tag and took it off, wrapping it up and shoving it in my pocket. I sighed. "I'm not sure really."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I was there, but I mostly just thought about you, so I was pretty much useless."

She smiled for a second before the lip went behind her teeth. "Oh."

"What did you do today?"

"I did a lot of that, too," she said. "Thought about you, I mean."

I smiled back at her. That was good. Very good.

She cleared her throat as the waitress brought our drinks. Her eyes met mine but she was waiting until she left to continue with whatever she was going to say.

"Thanks," I said to the waitress, completely preoccupied and clearly dismissive. I didn't really care though. I nodded to Allison after she left, so she'd continue.

She shrugged slightly but there was a smirk there. "Uhm, not much, really. I took a nap. Tried to read a little. Got off twice." She shrugged again, and actually wasn't even looking at me when she dropped the little nugget about getting off twice. Her mouth moved slowly down to her straw and she took a pull from her Diet Coke.

She'd been so nonchalant about the whole thing. Like that was just… I blinked at her, trying to sort that out. "Wait…you… ok, first, you read without me?" I huffed, trying for agitated and indignant and injured, but she could tell I was teasing. "I'm so…offended. I thought that was our thing. And you just went on without me?"

She was smiling. "Yeah, I didn't get very far, but I went a little bit father." She shrugged again. "Wasn't that big a deal."

I shook my head. "Not that big a deal? It's awesome! When was the last time you picked up a book before yesterday? It's great!"

She looked down at the table, picking up her napkin and twisting it. "I guess it's been a while, yeah. It wasn't as horrible as I remembered, but I think you had a lot to do with that."

I smiled. "Good." I paused for just a second. "Then I won't be upset that you did our thing alone."

She shook her head, swallowing another sip of soda. God, did she need to do that? The straw sucking and her lips over it was not helping. "No, something else is our thing." She said it quietly, but I swore now she was flirting with me. Deliberately. She didn't do it a lot, but fuck, it was hot. Plus she was throwing the hormones right back in my face, and my dick was more than happy to respond. Heartily.

I blew out a breath slowly, trying to keep my shit under control because I really didn't relish the idea of spending our entire dinner with a hard-on. I decided I'd have to throw it back if I wanted to survive with any semblance of control. "And yet you did that alone, too today…apparently. Maybe you don't need me at all."

She nodded, completely unabashedly and blatant. "Twice," she confirmed.

Fuck. That hadn't really worked the way I'd planned it.

"Reading wasn't horrible, but getting off and thinking about you was a much more relaxing use of my time. I napped after the first one. Didn't really need as much thinking, or it was thinking of a different kind. Just touching. Imagining. That fantasy shit is great."

Oh, fuck. Come on. My breathing was picking up because she fucking knew that her telling me about it was going to make me start to imagine and envision, too. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath, but that was a bad idea because closing my eyes actually made the images sharper. I snapped them open and started to wonder why the fuck we'd gone to dinner at all. And I realized suddenly, when my eyes met hers, and she was fucking smug-smirking and shit, I don't think she'd wanted to go to dinner at all. I think she wanted to mess around with me just as much as I did with her from the second I'd stepped into the apartment. If I had any lingering doubt, her food rubbing against my leg under the table, erased it completely. Because her fucking shoe was missing, and she was slowly making her way up my leg and back towards my dick.

My mouth went completely dry, and I shamelessly shifted towards the table more to help her get there faster. Our eyes were locked like it was some kind of staring contest, and I didn't remember her ever looking this…horny. I mean, there was just no other word for it. She was as horny as I was. I was trying to keep it buttoned up, but the higher on my thigh her foot traveled, the more I was basically all-out panting at the fucking table. My hands were flat on the surface and I could tell when I moved them they were going to leave that hazy imprint and it was all her fault.

Her toes flexed _so fucking close_ to my cock, inching upward, and she was almost there… just another inch or two. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and I fucking moaned right there at the goddamn table. Her heel dug into my thigh and her foot arched and holyfuckingmotherofshit, her toes pressed right into the rapidly growing bulge in my jeans, and just the pressure alone and the feel of her toes bending into my dick was exquisitely wonderful. And then the fucking waitress _brought our fucking food right the fuck then. _I was so shocked that lasagna landed in front of me that my knee kicked up and hit the bottom of the table, rocking the drinks and clanging the silverware together, and her foot was just _gone, _and I fucking jolted back into the seat, panting.

"Fuck," I said, louder than I'd meant to.

"Are you ok, sir?" she asked, all concerned and looking at me strangely.

Allison started giggling and that sort of cracked me out of my anger over the goddamn lasagna. I blew out a laugh as I watched her dissolve on the other side of the booth, her face red and her hands moving up to try to cover the laughs.

"Fuck it," I said, looking up at the poor waitress. "We're gonna need this to-go, like… yesterday."

"Uhm…"

Oh, she was going to try my already completely fucking horny patience. "Just get us some containers, ok?"

"Was there something wrong with—"

"NO. Just get us the goddamn containers. We just need to go."

Allison was attempting to stifle her laughter and just couldn't seem to, and pretty soon I was just gonna leave the fucking dinner. "Please," I added.

Her eyebrows rose, but thankfully, for her own wellbeing, she backed up and went to get containers. Or the manager. I didn't really care; I just needed us to get out of this restaurant.

"Oh, my God, will you STOP?" I said, whispering to her, as though that was going to help anything at this point, and trying not to start laughing again with her because it was seriously contagious.

She shook her head, waving me off, "I can't help it! All I can see if your face and you flying back in the seat like the fucking lasagna was gonna bite your dick off."

I was still chuckling when the waitress brought back the containers. "Do you want me to…" she trailed off, already anticipating my answer, I think.

"No, I've got it. Just the bill, please."

She sat it down the second after I asked. Smart woman. "Thanks."

"Sure… hope you have a nice…night."

"Oh, it will be," I said, and Allison just started snickering again. She was already putting her food in the container though, so while amusing, she was just as eager as I was to leave.

I stood up and held out my hand. "C'mon, let's go."

She accepted my hand immediately and actually had to pull me back to get the food. My brain wasn't on food anymore. We may have sort of jogged back to her apartment. But she didn't complain about the pace and I wasn't dragging her along or anything, she was right alongside of me, hand gripped tight on mine. We took her building's stairs two at a time and the door to her apartment never looked so good. I managed to let her tear herself away long enough to put our dinner in the fridge and then I couldn't keep my hands to myself and by the time we actually got to her bedroom, I'd lost my flannel and halfway lost my tee shirt, and she was only in her bra which was quickly lost the second I kicked the door shut.

Her hands were in my hair and scrambling over my shoulders before they came to rest on my chest, and I couldn't decide which part of her I wanted to touch first. Our mouths were already tangled together and I pulled her flush against me, groaning as the hard-on I'd only moderately lost on the way back to her apartment was back in full force with her so available now. It was crazy that it hadn't even been a full 24 hours since I'd last felt her like this and yet it felt like I hadn't in years. I didn't think I'd ever get enough and we had so far to go yet.

I pulled away from her mouth, moving to her neck and told her, "God, you're all I could think about today. All fucking day. I was absolute shit for anything else."

She pushed her neck into my mouth, one hand fisting in my hair, the other wrapped around my back. "After you left last night, I wanted to call you and tell you to come back."

I moaned into her ear. "Fuck, I wanted to stay, too. I wish you would have."

"Stay tonight?"

It wasn't really a question, she didn't phrase it as one, but I answered it anyway. "Absolutely."

I backed her up until her knees hit the bed and she pulled me back with her so we both ended up a tangled pile of limbs. I rolled to the side so I wouldn't squish her, and immediately started kissing down her chest. I kissed over a nipple, sucking it in into my mouth as I pulled off and licked down the valley between her breasts. I skimmed my lips the rest of the way down until I hit the waistband of her jeans, letting my hands trail behind me, palming the roundness of her breasts and flicking her nipples with my thumbs. I ran one hand over her flat stomach and let a lone finger trace feather-light over her belly button.

I stopped everything at the waistband, looking up at her. "What do you want tonight?"

She didn't hesitate at all, but her voice was scratchy and hoarse, "Your mouth. I want your mouth on me."

I nodded, smiling gently, my fingers hooking over the top of her jeans in the space between the material and her skin. "Can I take these off?"

She nodded quickly, lifting her hips up and I popped the button and slowly pulled down the zipper and kind of felt like the perviest kid at Christmas, unwrapping some sexual gift. I kneeled up to rid her of the jeans, glancing at her again for permission on her underwear, but her hips were already lifting again and she wanted them gone.

I will admit, I was sort of hoping she'd ask for this soon. Because I wanted to taste her, and see her, beyond the ways I'd already managed that. I wanted the front row seat instead. I eased the underwear off of her legs, and tossed them in some vague direction over my shoulder. I forced myself to move back to her mouth for a bit, pushing my tongue along hers, while I rested my hand over her mound, my middle finger running up and down her slit. Familiar with her was better before jumping into something else, even if she wanted to just jump in head first. She was already wet, which I just couldn't love enough, and she kept pushing herself towards my finger, so I dipped it inside, hooking it up right away since that worked so well last time, and watched as her body reacted. I added a second finger, joining the first with pressing on her front wall and shifted my thumb up to her clit. I loved when the orgasm snuck up on her. She'd be happily writhing on my fingers one minute and moaning my name, her hands kneading on me, and the next her head would be thrown back, leaving the elegant column of her neck open for me to lick and suck and kiss and her lower body would be rolling on my hand while her mouth was either open on a breathless scream or moan or completely soundless. I couldn't decide which I liked better.

I slid my fingers out gently, trailing her wetness up through the strip of hair over her mound and swirled it around her stomach. Normally, that finger would have been in my mouth the second it was out of her, but I'd taste her at the source soon enough; and I liked seeing the evidence of her arousal as I spread it on her skin.

I waited until her eyes opened and landed on me, still all heavy-lidded and satisfied. She smiled widely at me through the satisfaction.

"I'm gonna use my mouth now, ok?"

She nodded eagerly, the slow and sated look instantly gone. "Please."

I leaned over and pressed my lips to hers quickly, kissing my way down again, and I couldn't tell if she was nervous about this or not, but I think it was more excitement and anticipation than it was the former. By the time I was between her legs and shifting to my stomach, her head was craning up. I smiled. "You wanna watch?"

Her lip went behind her teeth and she nodded.

"Scoot back and use the pillows," I suggested, waiting for her to get her head propped up. Once she was settled, I moved closer, bending her knees and locked eyes with her. "You ready?"

"Yeah." She nodded.

That was pretty much all I needed. I made sure I touched her before just diving in with my mouth, tracing over her lips and rubbing her clit in circles with the pads of my fingers. I wanted to be able to hold her eyes if she needed that, if it would help ground her or whatever, but I couldn't just ignore the fact that I could see her entire pussy just laid out for me like a fucking buffet. I had to take a few minutes just to appreciate that shit, too. She was bare except for the strip above her mound, and the skin alongside her pussy was smooth and pink. Her lips were completely swollen and parted, darker the more aroused she became. Inside her lips was nothing but glistening wetness and more swollen pink flesh. I traced through the wetness with my fingers, spreading it and massaging it into the heated skin all around her. And I really couldn't wait any longer, because the heat of her and the smell and everything… I had to taste her.

I forced my eyes up to her and she hadn't really been vocal yet, but I hadn't really done anything that I hadn't covered already. She was starting to pant though, the anticipation getting to her and my looking up at her only made it worse because I think she could read the intent in my eyes.

I held her lips open and flattened my tongue starting at her opening and licked all the way up to her clit. Her eyes squeezed shut and every muscle in her legs tightened, her lower body pushing back onto my mouth and the taste of her was completely inexpressible, but I repeated the same motion and I never wanted it to stop. I could have tasted her forever and never been happier. I kept my concentration on her opening and lips then, sucking her lips into my mouth and massaging them with my tongue before exploring her opening and pushing my tongue inside her. Watching her from this angle was completely captivating because her body would jerk and respond when I did something new or she felt something new and it was like she couldn't control the reaction at all, and I didn't want her to.

I moved up to her clit, circling it with my tongue and wrapped an arm under her leg when she started to writhe, steadying her. I slowly worked inward, coaxing her clit out from under its hood and smiling into her wetness when the moans started. I think she'd been holding them back honestly and I didn't really know why, but when I started in on her clit, she broke and out they tumbled. I flicked my tongue against her clit, working up to more stimulation against it and chuckled when her hands started flailing for something to tether her. When I flattened my tongue over her clit and sucked it into my mouth at the same time, she shuddered and came, her whole back bowing, and I trailed the hand not holding her to the bed up, and smiled against her again when she latched onto it like I was her last lifeline, her other hand fisting in the comforter on the bed.

I didn't stop though, I just kept it up, sucking her swollen clit quickly, but pulling off every time and moaned into her skin, which only made her moan louder as her body danced for me. I pulled our hands down, because I was gonna need that hand in a second and dropped hers on my head, which may have been the best or worst idea I'd ever had because the more I did, the more she tugged at my hair and by the time I pushed two and then three fingers in her, hooking them up while I covered her clit with my mouth and flicked my tongue over it fast, rhythmic and completely direct, her hands were on either side of my head yanking while she started screaming my name. Literally. Apparently the volume wasn't an issue anymore and it only spurred me on because it seemed to be the only word she could say at the moment.

I have no fucking idea even how long I kept her there, but I couldn't seem to tear myself away and she wasn't stopping me either. Her body was convulsing, and the only thing holding her to the bed was my hand. Her hips circled and buckled and I kept my fingers in her, but stopped the continuous onslaught to her clit and slowly, her fingers lessened in my hair and her body stopped the spastic movements, rolling into gentler motions that followed my hand. She was taking in huge gulps of air like she couldn't get enough to stay in and I didn't pull my fingers back until her body had settled into tremors.

My mouth and my hand was completely covered in her and I dipped one last time to lap at the wetness that was literally just flowing out of her.

She tugged once more on my hair, enough that I looked up at her, and she was reaching for me. I tried to wipe the largest part of her wetness with the back of my hand, but that was mostly useless since my hand was covered in her, too, but she rolled into my chest and she didn't seem to care. Her entire body was trembling, like there was an electric current buzzing there, and I immediately loved when she wanted me to hold her.

She settled eventually, the trembling falling off, and she nestled herself against my jaw, the top of her head pressing there. I nuzzled into her hair and tightened my grip, and she let out the shaky breath, followed by a sigh that was just as shaky. I craned my head down just before I felt wetness on my chest. "Hey…" I said quietly. "You ok?"

She nodded into my chest, but didn't say anything.

I squeezed her gently. "Hey," I said again, just as quietly.

She sniffled, but she didn't attempt to wipe the tears away or wipe them off of my chest. I think she thought that would have meant she was ashamed of them or something, and neither of us thought that. I gave her some time and a few minutes later she cleared her throat. "I'm ok."

"Ok," I said back.

She sighed heavily, her head pressing up into my jaw, "I'm sorry. I…just…" More sniffling. "I don't know what to do with it sometimes. What you make me feel."

I let that sink in for a second. "You've never had a guy do that for you, huh?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Can I ask what they did instead?"

She shrugged against me. "Mostly they just got off."

I chuckled and squeezed her again, so she'd know I was teasing, but there was an undercurrent to my question that I'm sure she'd understand. "Who were you seeing that never got you off? Or never gave you oral? Did you only meet complete creeps?"

She chuckled back, but it was mostly a humorless kind. She sighed, letting the breath out slowly. "I dunno, Tyler. I guess."

"Was it too much?"

"No," she said quickly. "It was the most amazing thing I've ever felt in my life. I just can't… sometimes I can't deal with that very well."

I hummed thoughtfully at her. And tried to imagine being in any type of relationship with someone and never experiencing anything remotely…good. It didn't make a whole lot of sense. What kind of selfish bastards lived in New Orleans, Texas, and Las Vegas? I sighed, "Well…I dunno. I hope you don't want to stop because I plan on doing it all the time. You're beautiful and you taste completely fucking amazing. So I don't want to stop doing it to you." I waited for a minute but she didn't say anything. Hmm. I didn't know if I could go back to nothing oral once I'd done it to her now. It'd be like putting a treat in front of a dog and asking the dog not to take the treat. Ever. At all. Plus, she liked it. I liked it. Fuck. I sighed again, but tried to keep it quiet, and the disappointment out of my voice. "Hey, look, if it's not something you want to do again, I'm not…" I didn't really know what the fuck to say honestly. _I'm not going to plant my face between your legs?_ That wasn't exactly eloquent. _I'm not going to force you_. Duh. Or I hope that would have been a 'duh' statement for her. But I didn't really want to say that I wouldn't miss it now, or that I wouldn't be frustrated if I couldn't give that to her. Shit. It wasn't about me though. "If you don't want to do it again, that's ok. You just have to give me a little direction then. Because I'm not sure what you want. I want to give you want you want."

Aw shit. Now she was crying again. "Allison…"

"No, just…please, shut the fuck up. Ok?"

She wasn't pulling away from me, so I didn't let her go. "Ok."

"Just hold me and shut up."

So that's what I did. It took her less time to get herself back under control this time. "I do want it again. I just wasn't expecting…" She sighed. "This shit just makes me really fucking messed up. Ok?"

"Yeah, ok."

I started rubbing her back. She pulled back to look at me. "Thank you."

"For what?"

She rolled her eyes.

I smiled. "Sure. That's how it's supposed to work."

She nodded, looking down at the bed. "Are you hungry? I'm starving."

"Yeah, I could eat."

"Ok. I'll be right back." She shifted off the bed and scanned the floor for clothing. "Can I borrow this?" she asked, picking up my tee shirt.

"Yeah, absolutely," I said, smiling, loving the fact that it looked about four sizes too big but that she looked sexy as hell in my shirt. And I really wasn't sure what just happened there. It seemed like we jumped from a really important discussion to food. Which, I mean, I could let it go as long as she knew that she was ok, but I couldn't help when I didn't know what went on in her head.

I shucked my jeans while she was gone and got under the covers, leaning against the wall and leaving her side pulled back so she could get in.

She came in with the boxes of our dinner and two sodas, handing off one of each to me. She didn't say anything else and we just sort of started eating. I didn't know if it was better to just let it lie or bring it up again. I went a different route instead.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah," she said; an edge of tiredness there.

"What do you consider us?"

She looked at me sideways. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, is this a relationship to you? Do you consider this a relationship? Am I anything to you?"

She scoffed. "Of course you're something to me. What are you talking about?"

"Right, but what am I? A friend? A boyfriend? Someone you just mess around with? What am I?"

I didn't think she was going to answer me at first. Or she'd answer, but it would be a standard _I don't know, Tyler_ in that tired tone she got with me when I wanted to know her favorite something, or I asked for more than she wanted to give. "What do you want to be?" she asked me back instead.

"I want to be all of them. In the scope of the boyfriend role."

She took another bite and seemed to be considering that. I didn't want to touch mine again. I didn't really want to if this wasn't what I thought it was. I didn't think I'd misread things that badly, and honestly, no matter what her answer was, I wasn't going anywhere. But I didn't feel like eating more if…

"Yeah, I'd like that," she said quietly, talking directly into her spaghetti. "As long as you don't mind that I'm basically a freak, and burst into tears a lot after really awesome sexual experiences."

I snorted and took a bite of the lasagna. She was right; they had excellent food. And it tasted even better now. "Better than tears because it sucked."

She burst out laughing and I smiled as she looked over at me. She kept the smile when she said, "I meant that. About it being the most amazing thing."

Well, I mean, way to stroke a guy's ego. "I'm glad. Although I'll have to do some research or something, because if you expect the most amazing thing every time, I'm gonna need some new material."

She sighed and leaned against me. "I think your material will be fine." She pointed with her fork. "How's the lasagna?"

"It's great." I held out a forkful and she moved closer so I could get it in her mouth.

"Mmm. You wanna try the spaghetti?" She looked so cute, all excited to let me taste her meal still in nothing but my tee shirt.

"Yeah, I do."

She spent a minute swirling the noodles on the fork and getting a piece of meatball on the fork with it and then held it out to me. It was incredibly methodical and adorable. I nodded, chewing. "It's good."

We ate in silence for a few minutes, exchanging bites of food in between bites of our own. Her eyes kept cutting to me every few seconds.

"What?"

"Are you still staying?"

It took me a second to get what she meant. I furrowed my brows. "Yeah, I mean, I'd like to. Do you still want me to?"

She nodded. "Duh, yeah."

I nodded back, smiling. "Then, yeah, I'd like to."

She looked immensely happy about that, and more relaxed, and I could only assume it was the same reason I was. It wasn't always easy to tell, exactly, how she felt about things. This one didn't seem to need any explanation and I loved that.

She took the rest of the leftovers out to the kitchen and poked her head back in. "Hey, I have an extra toothbrush if you want it…"

I smiled and threw the covers back to follow her.

"Just because I know, ya know…you don't have one…and you might…"

"It's great. Thanks."

Definition of surreal: _having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream; unreal; fantastic._ Also, standing in a bathroom next to Allison and brushing our teeth, smirking at each other in the mirror, around mouthfuls of toothpaste. Me in nothing but my boxer-briefs and her in my tee shirt. Aidan would never have to sell this girl a toothbrush; the fucking bathroom was going to be stocked with everything she could ever want or use if we were gonna start sleeping at each other's places. It was gonna be my first stop tomorrow.

She hit the lights and we shucked the clothes and crawled back into bed, and sort of had this weird limbo thing again where we both were wondering how we were going to sleep.

I smirked. "Anything I need to know about your sleeping patterns?"

Her eyebrows kicked up for a second and then down. "What do you mean?"

"Like, do I need to beware of flying limbs that might cause black eyes or kicks that will leave me with bruised shins?"

She snorted. "I don't think so, but I guess I'm not sure. I mean, I don't think I've ever injured anyone while sleeping."

"How do you sleep normally?"

"Uhm, I lie down and close my eyes, moron." She snickered. "How do you sleep? Hanging from the ceiling upside down or something?"

I chuckled. "I mean, are you a back sleeper, a stomach sleeper, side sleeper…normally…"

"Oh." She thought a minute. "Honestly, I do all of those. I don't really pick one over the other. I wake up in all different positions."

I snickered.

"Shut up!" She scowled at me. "You asked!"

"So you're a roller. Hmm…"

"I'm a what?"

I chuckled. "You roll when you sleep then, I think. I guess I'll just have to take my chances."

"Ya know, you've slept with me before, you jackass."

"Well, yeah, but that wasn't for the whole night."

"You slept with me a whole night."

I nodded. "Yeah, but that was different."

"By the time you fucking figure out how we should be sleeping, we could be asleep already."

I smiled. "Well, I mean, I could hold you. Or you could sleep on my chest. That seems to work well."

She nodded. "Yeah, ok."

What was that definition of surreal again? Because I swear, we just had a conversation about what the best way to sleep with each other would be. She rested her head on my chest and threw a leg over mine and that was kinda all she wrote. Apparently settling in wasn't difficult once the whole plan was in place.

She sighed out a long breath over my chest as she settled and I would be lying completely if I didn't think that was just about the best fucking thing ever. Her hand was resting next to her face on my chest and I could feel her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked slowly until she closed her eyes. The total sense of contentment was sort of remarkable.

She pushed off my chest suddenly and sat up, looking down at me with this look of alarm.

"What?" I asked.

"Shit," she said, shaking her head and moving a hand to rub over her face. "I'm so sorry."

And I was suddenly so confused. "What are you sorry for?"

She looked down at me all incredulous like I should know this already. "You didn't get off!"

"Oh." Well, no. "That's ok."

"No, it's not!"

I waved her off. "No, really. It's fine. I'm fine."

"Do you want me to give you a handjob or something so you can get off?"

Ok, so…how does one answer that question exactly? I mean, yes, of course I'd like a handjob. Of course I'd like getting off. But I didn't _need_ it. "Do you want to?"

She shook her head. "That's not what I asked you. I asked if you wanted one."

"Right, and I asked if you wanted to give me one."

She huffed. "That's no different than when you get upset with me when I don't have a favorite or I won't pick where we're going for dinner. It's the same thing, Tyler. That's not an answer."

Ok, she had a point. Because I couldn't expect her to give me shit like that if I wasn't going to, too. But…it was somehow different when she was asking me. I never wanted to ask for something that I didn't know if she was comfortable giving. I mean, obviously, she was comfortable giving me a handjob; she'd given me one the previous day. But it seemed out of place now. And she'd been so emotional over the oral; I didn't really want to add this to it right now. It wasn't like I thought she couldn't separate the two or that she wouldn't have wanted to right then, but…it just felt wrong.

"Just answer it, Tyler."

I must have taken longer to answer than I'd thought. "No," I said quietly. "I'm good."

She looked at me for a minute like she wasn't buying it or I was trying to pull something, but she gave in at the end. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I nodded. "I'm good. Later."

She nodded once. "Ok." And then she was settled again, and I must have really loved this girl to completely turn down sexual gratification in lieu of her emotional well-being. Funny though, I couldn't really seem to care as I drifted off with her draped over me.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen **

* * *

**APOV**

I couldn't say this was the first time I'd woken up with a hard-on pressing into me, but it was the first time that the guy I was with had his hand on my back and his face pressed into my hair. It felt possessive, but not dominating. Mostly it just felt like that was where his hand ended up and so that's where he kept it. It felt like more of that cuddling shit. And it felt…good. I felt like I was being held, and I think that's exactly what this was. There was safeness here, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to enjoy it or shove away from it. I could never trust anyone enough to feel safe with them, and doing it with Tyler sort of made me feel like I was letting things spin out of my control.

But I didn't shove away from him, either.

Maybe this was the real thing.

I had exactly three different sources for information on this shit: Bad experiences from the past that couldn't even be in the same realm as what I felt waking up and having Tyler's warmth and safety and everything; Jeremy—who was slowly fading into some part of my childhood that could be called "innocence" even though I don't think I'd ever been innocent after my mother died; and porn.

Bad experiences included a completely different sort of waking up, and hands that were much more possessive and forceful than the way Tyler's hand was resting on me. They included mornings where I didn't remember who I'd fucked, where I'd been, or how I ended up there. Those mornings were ones I hated to think about.

Jeremy was something I was slowly leaving behind. He'd been the one thing in my past that I'd been able to fall back on, but I was kid then, and too much had happened to me since then to keep going back to that. Tyler was slowly showing me just how simple that had been, how harmless it was, and how my idea of that—of what we had—wasn't really what I thought it was. Maybe it would have grown into something like this, but it didn't, and I couldn't keep dragging it with me.

Porn was probably the biggest lie that I'd bought completely. Everyone knew porn was fake, and as a stripper and a whore, I was balls-deep in the fakeness of it all. I knew how to sell something, how to sell myself, and I thought that was all there was. I'd sort of been led to believe that really—it wasn't something I just decided one day. It's the only thing that had been real to me. Sex was fake. Lives were fake. People were fake. Words were fake. The entire world was completely fucking bogus. The only truth was just how much of a scam everything was. Everything and everyone pretended, like the entire fucking world was part of some magic show and I was constantly the one who never saw anything real behind the curtain.

I felt kind of fucking cheated by that, because that wasn't true at all. Sure, it was true for a lot, or even most people, but it wasn't true for everyone.

I couldn't fake things with Tyler—I didn't want to—because I knew he wasn't faking anything with me.

Things were easy with him. He made it easy to talk to him, to ask for things. He made me feel comfortable with him, and that rarely happened. It was the trust thing. I didn't trust most people and I couldn't feel comfortable with them because of it. Tyler made me feel like things were possible, and I did shit with him that I wouldn't have ever dreamed of trying with other guys because it sent the wrong message, or made them think they were being offered shit they weren't. I could tease Tyler and flirt with him and not worry about something being taken the wrong way, or like I was asking for something I wasn't.

He made me feel normal—or whatever I thought normal was.

I would have never tried to pull that shit at the restaurant with anyone else. I was purposely being flirty and sexy and suggestive, and it was sort of amazing and great that he reacted to me the way he did. I felt like he wanted me as much as I wanted him. And I felt…proud. Proud that I was able to do it—almost like I'd gotten away with something illegal and it had no consequences. The greatest feeling was knowing that he felt the same things I was. Maybe I wasn't so bad at all of this—this relationship stuff. The best part was, I think this was actually me; it wasn't _Mallory_ or any of the other random names I used in the past. It wasn't a faceless whore who was trying to turn a trick or line up the next in an endless string of fucks. I wasn't playing Tyler. I was teasing him because I never wanted to go to dinner in the first place; I wanted him back in my bed—for me, for us.

I've never been the type of whore who got off on the power I could hold over a guy—mostly because I thought that was bullshit. I have no idea where movies and shows and shit get the idea that a prostitute has any kind of power. There were a lot of situations I felt like I'd been lucky to just make it out of. The fucked up truth is that women are just naturally smaller, and in the larger picture, if a guy wants something most of them can take it with or without your ok.

Teasing Tyler in the restaurant, though? I liked it. And I wasn't sure if I was supposed to or not, but I liked how he reacted to me, that he shifted forward to get my foot closer to him, that his breathing changed and his palms were sweating, that I made him feel like he made me feel all the time—almost desperate. The way we left the restaurant and the way his hand was glued to mine the whole way literally running back to my apartment—I wasn't sure what to call my level of happiness.

In the restaurant and in my bedroom, he was hard for _me_. Just me. And whenever he asked me something, I felt like I could actually give him the answer I wanted. And I sort of felt like crying because he always _asked_.

I couldn't get his mouth on me fast enough, and even then, he took his time. I had no idea where he pulled all this fucking patience from, but he always seemed to know just what to do for me, and how to touch me. His fingers held some sort of magical power, I'm certain, because one minute he'd be tracing my pussy with his fingers and then the next they were inside me and I was fucking coming before I ever knew what hit me.

And it hadn't really even started yet.

When he moved down between my legs, I really don't know how to describe what I was feeling. I think until it started, I was…not nervous exactly—I fucking wanted his mouth there—but I was anxious. He thought I wanted to watch, which was true, but…I don't really know, I think I wanted to watch his face in case something was wrong. Or if there was some sort of neon sign that would alert him to the fact that I'd been a fucking whore or something. It was crazy to think that, but I couldn't really stop the thoughts.

This was one of those times that I had a love/hate relationship with Tyler because he was incredibly gentle. Always. He used his fingers first before his mouth ever got on me, and he kept his eyes locked on mine like he knew I needed to see the acceptance there. I'm not sure what I was expecting, honestly. His tongue was fucking wet, and I'm not sure why that surprised me, but the heat that hit me from his tongue and the wetness of it sent chills all over my body. I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore as it felt like my entire body tightened with just that first lick. Every time he pushed his tongue somewhere new, or lick something new, I felt like I couldn't control the response my body was forcing. My arms and legs would jerk and I couldn't tell them to stop, and I couldn't stop the panting that was coming from my mouth.

When he got to my clit, it felt like my entire body was shaking, and I was grateful for the hand he was holding me down with because I couldn't tell my legs or my hips to stop what they were doing because they've never done it before. I couldn't even describe everything fully. I felt like I was outside of myself but still feeling it all, and nothing but incredible tingling all the fuck over. The moans just tumbled out; I couldn't even stop them, and I really don't know why I was holding them back.

It felt amazing.

When he sucked on my clit, I think my body jolted and I desperately needed something to hold onto. His hand was there like a fucking lifeline as I came screaming his name. I didn't have words for this orgasm because the second I was thrown into that one, his fingers were in me and his mouth was on me, too, and it just started all over again, and it felt like I was burning from the inside out. I felt completely out of control with the awesomeness of the feeling. I felt like there was no air in the room at all—like I sucked all of it up. And this feeling of just…I don't even know what to call it…loss from everything I'd missed? Or maybe it was the feeling of finding it? I have no fucking idea, but I needed him to hold me, and of course he was right there, happy to do it. I think I was shaking, and he figured out pretty damn quickly when I started crying that this was another first.

I spent so long feeling nothing; I felt numb all the time. And mostly, I liked it that way. I would have rather been numb than constantly fucked over, but feeling that all the time makes feeling something good that much worse because when something good finally hits, it's like a flood of everything—good and bad—comes at me. Along with all the great feelings, though, along with all the fucking pleasure that Tyler always kept up, I remembered all the fucked up shit that happened to me, all the times that assholes used me or hurt me or left me to whatever was going to happen, and it was hard to focus on just the good shit. It's hard to stay in the good moment and not feel like I've been shit out the world's asshole so many times that this can't be real.

Something this good, that feels this good, and something that I want really fucking badly just can't last. I couldn't remember the last time I wanted something just for me. Just because it made me feel good and I liked it. Not because I needed it or because it was something that I couldn't go without, but something I could live without because I had before, but I didn't want to.

As all of that's just rolling around up there in my fucked-up head, Tyler's just there—always—worried and concerned and caring with his gentle fingers and his eyes that I swear can sometimes see right into me. He always knows what to say, and I'm never wrong with how I feel.

And then with "_Who were you seeing that never got you off?" "Or never gave you oral?" "Did you only meet complete creeps?" _ I hated that he could do this to me. That he could look at me and not see the roadmap of my life written all over me. Or if he did, he didn't care, and that meant that he was really the wonderful, sweet, gentle guy he showed me. I didn't even know if that was something I was allowed to have, because the minute I was wavering and confused and not sure I even wanted everything that he gave me without asking for anything back, he'd follow it up with a "_If you don't want to do it again, that's ok. You just have to give me a little direction, then. Because I'm not sure what you want. I want to give you want you want."_

And why did he have to be so selfless and _nice_? I didn't know what to do with nice. I didn't know what to do with _him_. Why should he be with me when there were tons of women out there who could give him more, who wouldn't need as much patience and gentleness and understanding? What had I done to get him? Was he like my consolation prize for a life of being fucked over? Was that fair to him? He still had no real idea what he was signing up for, what he was getting himself deeper into here with me.

He just needed to shut up…and hold me. To be that quiet presence who asked no questions and just let me deal with shit.

He wanted to be here—that was obvious—and he just gotten done telling me that he wanted to give me whatever I wanted. None of it was an act, and he didn't expect anything in return. While those were all ideas that didn't make a lot of sense to me, this was Tyler. This was who he was. He had his own set of flaws, and I'm sure we hadn't scratched the surface of his own problems, but this was who he really was. I had to come to some sort of decision with myself that I could have this because I wanted it, and there was nothing to stop me from having it. No one was standing in our way. No one was telling us we couldn't have it or that I couldn't try to make it work. I just had to take the chance that it was going to, because that seemed to be the route he was taking.

Then, as we were eating, he tossed out this question that sort of threw me. Probably because I'd been thinking sort of the same thing when I'd gone to get our dinner. If I was going to just trust what we had going here, and I didn't have anything to hold it up against for comparison, then I was basically in new territory. I had to just accept that I really had no fucking clue what would happen or how things would go, but I wasn't sure that was even necessary anymore either. I thought my life had been pretty cut and dry. It followed a set of events every day—before I'd given up the hooking—it'd been a routine of hustling. I had no more control then than I did now, and I probably had even less then because nothing was steady or certain, and at least with Tyler, he was. Tyler was present constantly. I could depend on that, I think. He wasn't going anywhere.

So the question was kind of perfect. If we were doing this, it meant we were…seeing each other, or whatever. We were really dating. It wasn't just some idea anymore; he managed to break me into it. But I didn't know if that was what he meant, so I let the question fall back to him. We did this a lot, asked each other something and then had to answer it first ourselves—we couldn't hide that way.

People talk about their hearts or chests swelling with emotion sometimes, and I hadn't ever understood what the fuck that meant until that moment because that was the proof or confession that I probably needed to hear. It wasn't like he hadn't said he wanted to date before, but saying it meant something else now. I dunno why; it just did. _I want to be all of them. In the scope of the boyfriend role. _I almost wanted to giggle at how childish that sounded. A boyfriend. _This is Tyler, my boyfriend. _Such a silly statement that meant something huge.

Boyfriend—that's what this was. Not my definition from years ago, at all. I'm not sure why those other guys had held that term for me. They were nothing like this, and they'd been nothing like Tyler. Those were never relationships, or they weren't two-sided, but I hadn't known anything else at the time. I really never dated anyone, at all.

It's funny how things like that change. How an entire definition can switch. I was in a relationship. I was in a relationship with my boyfriend Tyler. I sort of wanted to tell someone, 'Hey—I'm finally kind of normal. I have my own place, a steady job that pays ok, and I'm seeing a guy named Tyler. What's he like? He's really fucking attractive and smart and patient and the gentlest guy I've ever met. He never expects things I can't give him and he makes me feel proud about things that other people don't notice. I think I'd like to make him proud. Oh, and he's kind of selfless sex-god. My own personal selfless sex-god.'

I felt kind of horrible just before we were going to go to sleep and I realized that, yet again, he'd gotten me off and was being completely selfless with his own orgasm. I think he turned it down when I asked because of my meltdown after he'd gone down on me. But it wasn't really fair for him to go without just because I was an emotional basket case when he was being decent. He did a lot for me without expectation of anything. Not just sexually, but in general.

His body shifted in sleep and his cheek nuzzled into my hair in way that made me feel warm and protected. The shift pushed his hard-on into my thigh more, and I decided I really needed to do something about that. He totally deserved it.

I carefully eased out of his grip, smirking at the way he snuffled like he was unhappy with my movement, but he didn't wake up. I debated whether or not to sneak attack him under the covers or peel them back, and decided a sneak attack was…sneakier. And he would probably sleep longer and wake up to a better surprise. If he was a light sleeper, moving the covers back could ruin the entire thing.

It occurred to me that this was probably the first sneak attack blowjob that I'd ever done. It was also probably going to be the first blowjob I was going to enjoy. I never had this reaction before. Mostly, blowjobs were just that: a job. It wasn't something I was enthusiastic about; it was just a means to an end and it was a quicker buck than a total fuck. I always made sure they got what they paid for, but I also knew just how to bring a guy off and sort of prided myself on reading them before we started and knowing just how to do it to get them off as quickly as possible.

I didn't want to do that with Tyler; this wasn't just a means to an end anymore. I wanted to blow him.

Maneuvering under the covers was more of a chore than I imagined because I had to fight with the damn sheet and blanket and still wind up between his legs and keep the touching to a minimum so he didn't notice. I found myself half giggling by the time I was actually in a position to start. That was a new element to all of this, too: this was actually fun. Fun and sex never went together before.

I couldn't resist running my fingers up his thighs; I have no idea why. I think because I really liked his body and this idea of gentleness and touching was something I found I really enjoyed and had always been missing. I liked touching him. I liked the differences between his body and mine—that his thighs were hard and strong and that the hair there tickled when I moved my hands over it. His cock was half-hard, the head just pushing out from beneath the foreskin. I decided to take him in my mouth first and wait until he was more awake to use my hands.

I took him in slowly, letting my saliva coat his cock as I sucked him gently. His legs shifted, but he was still asleep, and let out low, drowsy moan as I felt him start to lengthen in my mouth. As the moans got louder, I started massaging his shaft with my tongue, humming as I backed my way off.

His hips pushed up the same second he mumbled, "Jesus fucking…" in this completely fucking sexy, sleepy voice. My name tumbled out next, all lost on a groan, and I didn't think I ever heard it quite that way while doing this. I actually couldn't remember anyone saying my real name during a blowjob.

I hummed around his cock again and the covers started to move, shoved back until my eyes locked on his the same second I started to circle my tongue under his foreskin, all around the head of his cock.

"Oh fuck."

That was enough to make me move my hands to grip him, and I will admit, I'm sure my look when our eyes met was appropriately wicked and totally matched me smiling around his cock.

I pulled off long enough to throw out, "Good morning" while smiling at him, and then I dove back down, one hand squeezing the base of his cock while the other rolled his balls between my fingers, my mouth descending until he was resting at the back of my throat.

His eyes slammed shut when I swallowed, and his whole body went tense, and I watched as the orgasm became this full-body experience. His cock surged in my mouth and I started swallowing him down as muscles in his body twitched. He started letting out this incredibly sexy series of grunts as his cock spilled more come in my mouth, and I was sort of surprised that I had no thought to doing anything but swallowing him. Porn-style hooker blowjobs in general did not include swallowing. In fact, I used to make guys pay extra for that. Swallowing random dude's load was not on the menu, and most got off more by watching it land on my face or my tits. Unless they asked for it specifically, my mouth wasn't anywhere near the head of their cock when they came. I didn't want Tyler's cock to be anywhere _but_ my mouth when he came. I wouldn't tell him this because it sounded completely fucking lame, but he looked incredibly beautiful, if guys could look beautiful while mid-orgasm.

I kept swallowing until he was done and all these little aftershocks hit. He was breathing hard and his eyes were open again, just watching me, and I had no idea what he was thinking. I eased back off of his cock and the minute my mouth was gone he was moving.

I squealed when I was suddenly jerked onto my back and he was between my legs, and for a split second I thought we were going to have sex. I thought he was just going to push inside, and part of me really wanted him to. Instead, his mouth crashed into mine and his tongue shoved into my mouth as his fingers were pushing inside my wetness, thumb rolling over my clit, and within the span of eight minutes tops, we both came.

His breathing hadn't slowed and his mouth had completely swallowed my own orgasm. I reached for him and his cock was still hard, or hard again, and he moved over me enough that I could jerk him while our tongues kept sliding along each other. I can't say I was surprised to find that he didn't mind kissing me after I'd blown him, but that was just another way he was different from most guys I encountered. Part of it was probably the simple fact that I was a whore, but kissing wasn't high on the list for most tricks. And if it was, it wasn't after a blowjob, no matter if they came in my mouth or not.

I found it incredibly adorable that he was having trouble focusing on the kissing the longer his cock was in my hand. He wound up leaning over me, his forehead pressed against mine as I tugged another orgasm from him and he came all over my stomach.

It wasn't exactly what I had planned when I decided to wake him with the blowjob, but I hadn't thought I'd be getting an early morning orgasm out of it either, so I was pretty fucking happy with the way it turned out. He sort of collapsed next to me on the bed with one hand spread over my stomach, right in the middle of all of his come. I could not begin to describe how fucking sexy I found that. It was another one of those possessive things while not being at all dominating. I think it was just because he wanted to, and I loved that.

His face was turned toward me, but his eyes were closed and his breathing was still a little fast. His face looked incredibly relaxed and relieved, and I was so fucking pleased with myself that I'd been the one who made him that way. This was so…satisfying. And not just because I got off myself.

It was all so different and wonderfully amazing at the same time.

And because he did things just because he wanted to, I didn't stop myself from running my fingers through his hair and resting my hand on top of his head. His eyes opened slowly and his smile was just as slow and easy.

"That was one helluva wake-up call," he said, and his voice was still all low and growly and sexy and I just wanted to make him come again, but I forced myself not to.

I smiled. "I'm glad you liked it."

"I loved it."

My smile got wider.

He watched me for a minute. "You don't have to, you know. I don't expect that."

I knew he'd say that. I nodded, my fingers still combing through his hair. "I know. I wanted to. I liked doing it to you. That's probably the first time I actually liked giving someone a blowjob."

He smirked. "Well, good, then." His eyes closed again. "You're really, really, really good at it."

I snorted. "Well, that might be because you've been hard since last night and shot off really quickly." I giggled.

His eyes opened again. "Are you questioning my stamina?"

I really could not stop smiling. "No. Not really."

"Because you came pretty fucking quickly yourself. Like, less than a minute after my fingers were in you."

I nodded, smirking. "You were counting?" But I gave in. "Touché."

"I didn't have time to count," he teased. "Maybe we're just really good at getting each other off," he suggested.

"That could be." I nodded.

He closed his eyes again and his breathing evened out. I hadn't stopped messing around with his hair as I leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, and then felt kind of bad that I kept forcing him to open his eyes. He smiled at me. "I'm…" his brow furrowed for a second "…I don't want to sound condescending…"

I raised my eyebrows in answer. "What?"

"I'm glad you're getting more comfortable with the…I dunno, random affection shit. I like it. I like when you touch me like this."

I nodded. "I like it, too. You're easy to get comfortable with."

"Thanks." He said that so happily.

"You hungry? You wanna take a shower?"

He shook his head adorably against the comforter. "No, I wanna nap here with you and then we can do all that shit. I can't just get up and start shit after all that. I need respite or something."

I giggled, "Ok."

He was silent for a few minutes. "Although, food might help recharge."

I snorted. "Would you like me to get you some food?"

"What kind of food would you be getting, if I was interested?"

"I can make whatever you want. Eggs, pancakes…we might have some waffles. Those would be toaster, not from scratch."

He chuckled. "What do you feel like?"

"I could go eggs. Or pancakes. I think we might have bacon."

"Ohhhh, bacon."

I laughed. "Ok, bacon. Do you want eggs and bacon, then, or pancakes and bacon?"

"Is it illegal to have bacon, eggs, and pancakes?"

"You're kinda pushing your luck."

"But you like making me stuff to eat, so…I'd be happy to eat it."

Who was I kidding? I gave in. "Ok."

He didn't open his eyes this time, but he smiled. "Score."

"I'll let you know when it's ready."

He mumbled a reply back to me, but I think he was already dozing. I looked around the floor for his tee shirt but couldn't find it, instead grabbing his flannel and adding a pair of underwear in case Jordan was up this early. I wondered if he'd mind if I sorta…borrowed this shirt? Borrowed, as in kept it. I wondered if he'd notice if it was just missing. Probably, since he'd only worn that and the tee shirt. Maybe I could swipe it later. Or he could just wear the tee shirt today.

I walked out to the kitchen and got everything out, smirking at how easily I caved to making him whatever he wanted. I got the pancake batter mixed and had just poured the first pancake in the skillet when hands slid around my waist. I didn't exactly react well. In fact, I kinda whacked him in the head with the spatula.

He backed up a step and winced, but I couldn't exactly do a lot of damage with a spatula.

I chucked it on the counter. "Oh fuck, Tyler. I'm so sorry."

He waved at me, rubbing at the top of his head. "No, it's ok. I should have made some noise."

I pulled him closer to me and inspected the top of his head, but if there was a mark I couldn't see it. I kept my hands on his face, and while he still had his head down, I pressed a kiss into his hair. I sighed and backed up, letting go of his head. I turned back to the stove and angrily flipped the pancake in the skillet. It'd been on the first side too long and now it was burned. That was fitting. I chucked the burnt pancake harshly in the trash and slammed the skillet back on the burner, pouring another scoop of batter in there, determined not to ruin this one like I just ruined the last moment there.

I was so pissed off at myself. I mean, even when I thought I was getting somewhat normal I just couldn't make it last. I was such a fucking freak. I couldn't even manage to be a normal girl for an hour at a time. He was probably wondering what the fuck I'd hit him with next. He hadn't said anything else, and I really didn't want to turn again to look at him. I didn't want to see the look in his eyes; the one that people looked at me all the time with. The one that was half-pity and half something else, like disgust, like I was a fucking bug, or I was so fucked up I wasn't worth the disgust so they just felt sorry for me. Tyler had never looked at me like that yet, and I really didn't want to see it now, so I just stood there with my back to him, flipping the fucking pancake and kind of wanting to cry.

He'd probably give up soon and just take off or something. I was so fucking stupid. How did I ever think this was going to work? How did I ever think that I could be something I wasn't? I wasn't ever going to be normal, and he somehow made me think it was possible. I was probably very disappointing when he put so much…effort into this and it was all for fucking nothing.

I heard him shift and move, but I didn't want to watch him leave any more than I wanted to see his face. And I wouldn't ask him to stay. I wouldn't beg. That was something I would never do again.

Hands landed on my hips and I tensed all over. I wasn't expecting it again, but I didn't want to lash out like last time. Maybe he was nice enough to try to let me down easy before he told me I was a freak with violent reactions. It'd just been instinct. I would have never hit Tyler like that otherwise. I just didn't think, or I'd been too fucking happy thinking and wasn't as aware as I should have been. He made me sloppy. Defense is always the first feeling—always protect yourself. That's was the only way I made it this long. Behind me like that had just made it worse, like coming at me from a blind spot. It made me feel weak, and powerless. Two other things I wouldn't be again.

I sort of just stood there, completely still and frozen and on edge. I wasn't paying attention to the pancake either, and it was burning in the pan. I still couldn't make myself move.

His right hand moved from my waist and trailed down to the spatula hanging in my hand. He pried it out of my grip, which was just as tense as the rest of me, like it was a real goddamn weapon or something, and for a second I had a flashback of a disgusting kitchen on a hot, sticky night in NOLA, and Teddy standing there, speed bumps up and down both arms, pipe in one hand as his other fist clenched tight in anger.

Tyler wouldn't. No. He wouldn't. He wasn't like that at all. Instead, I watched like I was standing away from us as he leaned over me and scooped the pancake from the skillet, laying it down on the counter.

His lack of talking was making it worse; it was making me nervous on top of tense. He was talker; we always talked about shit. Once the pancake was safe from burning, the hand went back to my hip and he pulled me so my back was pressed against his chest.

"Relax," he said, quiet and right next to my ear. His hands flexed on my hips. "Relax," he said again.

And then he said nothing else. Just stood there with me in front of the fucking stove that wasn't even cooking anything at the moment, and it felt like the longer he stood behind me like that, just a warm, solid body, the more tension that just slowly leaked away. Like the contact from him was just eating it up.

"Deep breath."

I followed his direction because I didn't know what the fuck else to do and everything else seemed to be helping. I sorta wanted to just melt into him and let him hold me up, but I didn't.

Once I was mostly relaxed again, he squeezed my hips gently. "Ok, so I'm gonna go back to the bedroom, and then I'm gonna come out and make some noise, and we're gonna try this over. Ok? So you pour another pancake and forget the last five minutes ever happened."

And then he was gone—the warmth, the quiet breathing, the quiet talking, gone. But gone to the fucking bedroom and not out the door.

And…what?

Just like that? No bailing? No anger? No thoughts spiraling out of control like I ruined everything?

I poured another pancake, but only because I didn't know what the fuck else to do. I wasn't going to argue with him if he wasn't making a big deal out of it, but it just felt like I was always so close to what I wanted and then it blew up.

But he was still here.

The toilet flushed down the hall and the door squeaked open, and I had to smile because… I just did.

"Hey," he said before he slid back into his position behind me. His hands landed on my hips and pushed forward to rest on my stomach, his chin resting on my shoulder for a second before his lips pressed a kiss into my neck. "This shirt looks even better on you than the tee shirt…which I can't find."

I snorted. "I couldn't find it, either. That's why I grabbed this." I craned my neck to look at him. "You're not wearing a shirt." Obviously.

He chuckled. "Well, you've stolen one and we've lost the other. I wasn't going to put on one of yours."

I shook my head. "No, I like it. I like it a lot." I hadn't even noticed in my temporary insanity.

"What'cha making?"

I craned back to look at him again. "Seriously?"

He shrugged, which made it feel like we both shrugged because he was sort of glued to me. I didn't mind that either, and when I wasn't startled into violence, it was really nice.

"I think you know what I'm making. And you're really fucking weird." I smiled at him, though.

He squeezed me and simply raised an eyebrow, smirking.

I sighed, nodding and looking back at the pan with the pancake in it. At least I hadn't burned this one yet. "I know. I'm sorry, it was just reflex. I'm really sorry."

"Forget about it. It's not like you could kill me with a pancake flipper."

"A pancake flipper? You mean the spatula?"

"That's not a spatula, it's a pancake flipper. Spatulas are used for scraping out the brownie mix from the bowl. That's a flipper."

"Right." I shook my head.

I poured another cup of mix into the pan and noticed his hands on me had moved a little lower and his fingers were linked together now, like he wasn't planning on moving anywhere soon. His mouth pressed into my neck again and then trailed down my shoulder and back up. It was extremely difficult to focus on the pancake, but I managed to turn it before he switched to the other side and did the same thing. I let my head roll back into his chest, offering him more of my neck, and he didn't need to be asked twice. Poor pancake almost became another casualty.

He hummed over my throat. "Seriously, you in this shirt is sexy."

"Good. I might keep it."

"It's yours."

I finally had to shove my elbow back into him to get him to stop when he started rubbing his stubble into my skin. Food would be over and breakfast would be completely useless if he kept that shit up. It was becoming a huge turn-on and I think he knew it. "Behave."

"I really don't want to."

Hey, at least he was honest.

He sighed, back to just holding me. "Can I help?"

"How do you want your eggs?"

"I don't care."

"Scrambled is easy. Can you scramble eggs?"

"Probably."

I laughed. "Get the eggs from the fridge."

Watching him attempt to beat eggs was hilarious. It wasn't exactly that he wasn't doing the job, it was just how he was doing it. I didn't have a whisk and realized with a guy that was not a good thing to be missing. _I_ was perfectly capable of scrambling them with a fork, but Tyler sort of looked like he was really intensely stirring something. He just didn't get the whole beating idea.

There was a joke there—a sick one—and one that seemed horribly sad to me now, but I tried not to stay in that kind of thinking.

He "helped" some more by providing moral support behind me again for the rest of the meal prep, and I found I loved that kind of "help". I tried to explain to him in more detail why I'd reacted the way I did, but I should have known already that he figured out enough. He called this intimacy, closeness—familiar—and that we had both physical and emotional. Physical I got; that was easy. Emotional wasn't as easy for me to understand, but when he gave me examples of it, then I thought I understood.

I couldn't think of anyone else I'd ever had intimacy with. Other people to a point, but never to any level like this.

"Or, think of it like this: it's the difference between fucking and warm and fuzziness."

I burst out laughing and he chuckled in my ear.

"Well, well. Isn't this cozy?"

I think in general, Jordan had stopped believing I was telling the truth when I kept insisting that Tyler and I were not fucking. We weren't exactly just holding hands, either, but that was none of her business. I also knew she was just trying to protect me, or saw Tyler as some kind of threat to me, but she really needed to stop this whole bitch act. I thought it was a small victory that I didn't tense up when I heard her voice. I wasn't comfortable with her seeing shit between us; I wasn't sure why. I think because I wanted something that was just my own, and because she'd seen so much of…everything in Vegas. And because every night I worked, my entire life felt like it was visible onstage with me sometimes, and I liked that Tyler wasn't a part of that. And because sometimes I think she thought she needed to be my parent instead of my friend, but I lost my parents before I'd ever really had them. They weren't something that could be replaced, and it was sort of insulting to me when she tried.

This was that tone. The _I know better than you; I know better for you_ one.

I sighed, leaning back into Tyler, who hadn't made any movement from where he was. This day had already had a few ups and downs and I didn't want Jordan to become another one. She seemed ok with all of this when Tyler and I were in the sort of awkward pre-dating phase—she'd been happy that I wanted to actually go out with a guy, that I could—but somewhere along the line she took this bitter turn or something, like I wasn't capable of deciding who was good for me and who wasn't. Why she thought Tyler wasn't a positive influence, I didn't really know, but I really had to find out soon.

"Morning, Jordan," I said instead—rather cheery, too, I thought.

She didn't respond. Instead, she walked over to the coffee pot and started to make some.

"How ya doin', Jordan?" Tyler offered, and I thought that was pretty big of him, given that she was normally a complete bitch to him.

She scoffed, "How're _you_? Get what you came for?"

"Jordan," I started, warning.

"No," she said back, "this is bullshit. You lie to me all the time now because of him."

"I haven't lied to you about anything." I was impressed with my level of calm.

She gestured to us. "I think the fact that he's standing in my fucking kitchen with nothing but his fucking underwear on, and your shirt looks about three sizes too big, is enough evidence, don't'cha think?"

"Why are you so hung up about our sex life?" Tyler asked.

Fair question when he didn't know everything about my past.

"She doesn't have to clear things with you," Tyler added. "This is none of your business."

Jordan pointed at me. "_She_ is my business. Who the fuck are you?"

Tyler was going to keep going, and Jordan wouldn't back down from a fight.

"Jordan, stop it," I said. "We'll talk later, ok?"

Jordan was still pissed off, but she bit her tongue. She slammed the pot back in the coffeemaker and stomped off down the hall, slamming her door shut for good measure.

"Maybe I should have looked harder for my tee shirt," Tyler said quietly.

I shook my head. "I don't think it would have mattered. She was gonna be pissed about it no matter what, because she thinks she knows shit she doesn't. Ignore her. I want to have a good day."

"Why is she pissed at all? What did I do?"

I sighed. "You didn't do anything. I think she's just being over-protective or something. She practically pushed me out the door the night of our first date because I was freaking out."

"You were freaking out?" he asked, amused, his fingers squeezing me.

Not exactly the part I wanted him to pick out of that sentence. "Well, yeah. I didn't date; I didn't know what I was doing. And I did a really shit job with that first date."

He chuckled. "It was slightly…awkward. It was only at the beginning. That's always awkward."

"I think you're being nice because I was a disaster, but thanks." I shrugged.

"Well, she obviously hasn't met me because I'm unfailingly persistent."

I chuckled, leaning back into him. "You are."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

**APOV**

Breakfast was sort of interesting. It was great, but seemed so…comfortable. We were basically eating in our underwear, and I wasn't sure the way this felt normal and comfortable, and like we'd always had it, _was _normal. Did it feel that way for him, too? I didn't ask; I'm not sure why. I think maybe because I'd already let my thoughts run wild once today; I'd just accept that he seemed to be feeling the same way.

He grunted adorably when he ate and really liked something, and he actually blushed when he noticed me smirking at him.

He chuckled. "It's really good."

"I can tell," I said.

"Don't make fun of me, I rarely get a breakfast that's not coffee, some unintelligible pastry, something microwaved if I'm actually early, or in a wrapper. This is awesome."

"I'm not making fun of your enjoyment. More that you're grunting and shoveling it in while sitting in your underwear. It's very… Neanderthal."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to start making me breakfast all the time and then I'll be used to it."

"What am I your fucking waitress now?" I said this deliberately without teasing in my voice. Honestly, I wanted to see him squirm in his underwear.

And he totally did.

"No! Of course not! That's not what I meant. I was just teasing. I don't expect that."

"Jesus, we're like, what? Less than 12 hours into this relationship, ya know, officially, and already I'm nothing but a meal ticket?"

He looked completely shocked, and I was pretty sure he'd instantly started sweating, fumbling for words, like, actually stuttering. It was almost as adorable as the grunting. He looked so fucking scared. He stopped suddenly and looked at me for a long minute where I said nothing and tried to make sure my face stayed pissed or at least blank.

"You're totally fucking with me right now, aren't you?"

I burst out laughing and he dropped his fork to the plate where it landed loudly. He sat back in his chair and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Fuck."

I giggled some more, smirking at him.

"Christ, woman, I'm actually sweating. That was just mean."

I snorted. "Yeah, I think you can take it. And we're showering soon, so you'll be all fresh and shit for whatever you have to do today."

"What are _we_ doing today?"

"Do you have to work? Or class?"

"Depends what we're doing today," he said with a smile.

I shook my head. "I don't want you to skip shit. And I have to work tonight."

He nodded. "Well, I'm not strictly skipping shit. Because I'm not technically enrolled for a grade."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You should go to class. You could come back."

"I won't be missing anything, trust me."

I sighed. "Well, I kinda wanted to show you something today."

"Sounds promising." He grinned. "Now I'm definitely skipping it."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Sadly, it's not like that."

He shrugged. "That's ok, too."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"I kinda like that I can make you sweat on command."

He scoffed. "In more ways than one apparently. You're evil."

"Then you must be attracted to evil."

He shrugged again. "I have a weakness. I'm a weak individual. Very impressionable. Easily influenced."

I chuckled at him. "I wouldn't describe you that way."

"How would you describe me?" he asked, leaning forward and locking his eyes on mine.

Well, now I couldn't back down or look away without being a pussy myself. Damn him. "Evil, too. Definitely." Question avoided!

He grinned and it was a pretty fucking evil grin.

"Excellent. Evil's not always a positive quality. Good thing we both have it."

Jordan picked then to reappear. Reappear, that is, if you mean speed walk through the apartment, never looking our way or saying anything to us, and slamming the door on your way out.

"Have a great day!" Tyler called after her.

That was probably loud enough that she'd heard him, too. I groaned. "Ugh, Tyler, don't make it worse."

He shrugged. "She's being kind of childish."

"Yeah, I describe her like that all the time," I said sarcastically.

"Is she ever nice? She seemed nice when she was teasing me all the time."

"She's usually nice," I said. "Tough, but nice."

"How'd you get hooked up with her?"

I had to literally bite my tongue while grinning to not make a comment on his choice of words. Things were going so well though, I didn't want that to fuck this up, too. The more time I spent with him, the more I didn't want him to ever find out. It seemed like there was more to lose all the time. Instead, I tried to think of a way to explain while leaving out certain details. "Well, she basically saved my life."

His head popped up to look at me. "How so?"

I shrugged. "I told you, I was into some really bad shit in Vegas. She sort of got me out of all of it."

"Did you know her before or something?"

"No, we just met there one night." Quite an interesting night that I wouldn't be telling him about.

He didn't push, and I was grateful for whenever he did that. "So she just randomly took you in as a…project or something?"

I snorted. "I suppose. If I could be called a project."

He looked confused. "Why? Why would she do that?"

I smiled, shrugging. "I've never asked." I nodded to him. "What made you want to get involved with me?" Ha! Two could play at that.

He pushed his plate away a few inches and rested his elbows on the table, watching me. "Honestly?"

"Of course." Why? Didn't I want the honest answer?

"You frustrated me."

I laughed. What an understatement.

He smirked. "I like a challenge, I guess. You were different."

"Is that a line?"

"Do you want it to be?"

I thought about that for a second and then decided to avoid that, too. "What does 'different' mean?"

He smiled. "You just never do what I expect."

"And that's a good thing?" I smirked.

He nodded. "With you it is."

"What does that mean?"

"Just that other people are annoyingly predictable. And that's more work sometimes."

"I don't know what that means."

He thought a minute. "I guess I don't really know how to explain. It's just a different feeling, and it's got nothing to do with the newness of this. In other relationships, I could tell the minute something was going to happen. This one chick I dated, she was so conceited, and I could plot on a calendar when she was going to pick a fight or what was going to fly out of her mouth. It's not that routine isn't exciting or good, because it can be. It's the monotony of not having something real. You sort of came out of nowhere. And I didn't want to date any more plastic people, but I was tired of just random one night stands. So eventually I just stopped all together. Until Aidan forced me out that night."

Well. He certainly hadn't avoiding answering me.

"Why did you agree to go out with me?" he asked.

I smiled. "You were weird."

He chuckled.

I tried to be as honest. "I dunno, really. You were different, too. You didn't immediately expect anything from me. And you didn't let me push you away. Something told me I should give it a try. You were nice, and it wasn't a fake way, like a lot of other guys pretend to be."

"Maybe I just haven't stopped pretending," he said, smirking.

I watched him for a minute, analyzing. "I don't think that's true."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd either be better at pretending than me, which is not likely, or you would have slipped by now."

He was still smirking. "I'm not sure how to take that."

I shook my head. "I'm not pretending either. I'm not sure I know how to with you."

"Me neither," he agreed.

I nodded. "Good."

"I'm glad we got that cleared up." He chuckled.

"You wanna shower?"

"Sure."

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, scoffing and laughing at the same time.

I played dumb. "What?"

"I didn't even notice it was here!" He said, opening the door to the bathroom again and pushing it all the way back and open. "The door hides it! _That's_ the shower?!"

"Well, this is New York. They make things…cozy."

"It's like a mini shower! Do _you_ even fit?!"

I snorted. "Yes, and you will, too."

"Pffft, you might fit; you're tiny. We won't fit together."

I snickered. "Ok. We're going to have a talk about this now, ok?"

His lips twisted up. "Ok."

"So…this is the shower, right? It's small, yes."

"That's an understatement," he said under his breath.

"Shut up." I waited to see him hold up his hands. "The advantage of this shower is that it makes for a lot of closeness."

His whole face kind of changed right in front of me. "Oh."

I tapped his forehead. "There ya go. Now…you wanna take a shower?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes."

We didn't have a lot of clothing to lose, and I'm not sure I was surprised or not, but it was sort of strangely not-strange to be stripping off clothing with him in here. It wasn't like we hadn't already seen each other, but… I dunno, it seemed like if there was a time for it to be uncomfortable or clumsy or something, this would be it. Maybe it was because he was smirking at me the whole time and I just kept laughing at him. The second I mentioned that we'd be all smooshed together in there; it was like he couldn't get in the shower fast enough.

"So, you're obviously going in first, right?" he asked.

"Uh, I guess, yeah."

"Well otherwise I doubt any water would hit you."

I giggled. "Right."

I stepped in, and he was right behind me, and…it was quite cozy. I mean, I wasn't complaining at all, but I didn't think much actual washing was going to be done. "Yeah, the handle is kinda broken, so you might have to close the door from the top until it clicks shut."

He started laughing.

"What?"

"Yeah, ok. If I can turn around, I'll do that."

"Oh shut up, it's not that small."

"Allison, this is really small."

I smiled to myself, turning on the water. "I should warn you about something else," I said as the water started, and I pressed myself as close to the shower wall and as far away from him as possible.

"What's that?" he said as the water started to sputter out of the showerhead, and he turned back after latching the door.

I just waited.

"Oh sweet fucking Christ, that's cold!" He yelped, shoving himself towards the door, and I just started laughing uncontrollably.

"We have hot water issues sometimes," I managed to get out. "And it's always really cold when you turn on the water for the first time."

He was suddenly pressed right up against me instead, his hands tickling my sides and there was nowhere for me to go.

"Oh, good, you're ticklish," he said, completely relentless until I was near gasping from the laughing. I stopped laughing when his mouth was just as suddenly on my neck, licking and nipping at the water that was rolling off our skin. His hands rested similarly to how they had in the kitchen and I instantly leaned back into him.

"Good thing the water was cold," I said quietly, chuckling, pushing my ass back into him and feeling his cock press into me.

"Why's that?" he breathed in my ear.

"Well, otherwise we might have an issue." I pressed back again and he groaned into my ear.

"I don't think that's going to be a problem. There's a lot friction here."

I really wanted to laugh at him, but he wasn't wrong. And this was quickly turning into something more than a shower. I think he was waiting for my ok; that he wouldn't really start anything without it, even if I was grinding into him. His hands stayed fixed on my hips, the water rushing over us.

I turned my head and pressed into his chest, loving the fact that with his arms around me, I could literally fit my entire body into his space, my head just under his chin. Like he could completely swallow me up with his body. And unlike other times, with other guys, it only felt safe. Warm. Nice.

His arms shifted, covering more of me as I pressed into him, and we just stood under the water for a few minutes while he held me. I couldn't say that I ever liked being held before. It was always a possessive kind of thing, and this didn't feel anything like that. I was finding I liked a lot of things that I never liked before.

I sighed finally, and pulled away a little. "We should probably actually shower, huh?"

His grip lessened, but he didn't let go. "This kind of shower is fine with me."

I smiled and turned halfway to look at him as I grabbed the shampoo bottle and poured some in my hand before holding it out to him. "Wash your hair."

He smirked and dropped his hands, taking the bottle from me, unscrewed the top and smelled it before he poured any for himself. I snickered. "What? I don't know that I want to smell like fruit or flowers. I had to check."

I laughed. "Do I ever smell like fruit or flowers?"

He thought a minute. "No. But ya never know."

"Wash your hair."

"I would if this shower was big enough for both of us to raise our arms."

I stopped my washing long enough to reach down and pinch his thigh.

"Ow!"

"Stop dissing my shower."

"They're just facts!"

I sort of ignored him then, which was nearly impossible with him centimeters away; but he seemed to be following instructions. I rinsed my hair and realized just how annoying that was when you were facing the water and couldn't tip your head back, but turning right now was probably not good for the whole washing thing.

I sort of forgot soap could be just as bad.

I thought he was leaning to rinse his hair, but his hand closed around mine on the bottle of body wash as I reached for it, too.

He was right next to my ear again. "Let me. Can I?"

I nodded, letting my hand drop and waited, because this was totally another thing no one had ever done. I never had someone wash me before. I couldn't even remember a time as a kid when anyone had done that and once I was in the foster system, that shit wasn't happening. I was kind of excited.

"Close your eyes."

And that kind of derailed my excitement a little. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. Or that I thought he was going to hurt me or something. It wasn't a demand or an order; he just said it quietly and breathily like he had everything else in my ear. It was just that I was already giving up a lot of control with him behind me. And I was getting more comfortable with it, with his presence there; but closing my eyes too was giving up even more control.

He must have sensed my tension because he pressed himself flush against me again. "It's ok. You don't have to close them."

I sighed and turned my head, pressing a kiss into his cheek. Nah. I could trust him. He hadn't done anything yet to make me think otherwise. He squeezed me gently when I let my eyes flutter closed.

It was sort of… how everything sounded different with my eyes closed. Like the sound of the water and him breathing; I hadn't heard him breathing before, but I could now. I suppose it was just other senses adjusting. I heard the cap on the body wash flick open and the liquid sound as he poured some on his hands and then there was this kind of tense few seconds when I couldn't really hear what he was doing, but I knew his hands were going to land somewhere at any moment.

He didn't make me wait at all, his hands landed on my shoulders and spread inward towards my neck. He stayed on the back of my neck, his thumbs digging in the middle like a massage and then his thumbs traced down my spine and all the tension was gone just like that, and I found myself leaning backwards towards him.

He just closed around me again, his hands shifting to the front, all slippery and smooth. His hands spread the soap all over my stomach and up to my tits, his fingers kneading gently and his thumbs rubbing over my nipples. I arched back into him, my head against his shoulder and he nudged until I rolled my head to the side, leaving my neck open for his mouth. It made me feel kind of dizzy in the steam, all the slick skin and the smell of the generic soap.

I sort of wanted to collapse against him and just let him hold me up some more.

It tickled sometimes when all I could focus on were his fingers, but not in the pull away kind of way—like tingles and shivers all over my body instead. Like the water had gone cold and waves of the feeling flowed all over my skin. His tongue was swirling and licking the water off of my neck and I felt dizzy again, so much so that I needed something to hang onto, my hands moving to cup the backs of his thighs. I couldn't really reach any other part of him this way and that was why in the past I never enjoyed this position. It gave the guy too much power. I suppose that was why I'd been so defensive in the kitchen.

This though, wasn't rough or demanding, just soft and gentle. His cock stayed pressed between us and he seemed totally unconcerned with the fact that he was hard, too.

If I was dizzy before, the minute his hand trailed to my clit I felt absolutely weak.

"Oh fuck, Tyler," came out as some kind of moaned whisper and the feeling hit me so hard I almost wanted to double over, but I couldn't because this shower _was_ really fucking small, and his hand bracing me prevented it, too.

It was sort of shocking how much awesomeness could come out of that one tiny, little part of me.

It was also sort of shocking how well he knew to do this to me after only having done it a few times. He knew just how to press and rub and circle to make my entire body come apart for him.

I might have left nail marks in his thighs as I came, and if his body wouldn't have been holding mine up, I think I might have slid right down the side of the shower wall.

I can't really describe the moments after, if dozing standing up was possible, I think that may have happened to me. I was just very…relaxed but for some reason it felt like a different kind of release. Maybe it was the shower or the heat and the steam, but I felt a huge amount of relief, and came back from wherever I went to me basically propped up by him, his hands steady and holding me to him, his cheek pressed into the side of my head.

I turned my head to reach his mouth, a completely clumsy and messy kiss, but he didn't seem to care that only half our mouths actually connected.

He hummed at me and I wondered if he felt as light as I did, but realized that there was no way he could when the base of his cock was pressed in between my ass cheeks, head rubbing into my lower back. It wasn't insistent or forceful; he wasn't pleading for me to do anything about it, he was just pressed there, enjoying the friction and making small movements with his hips to grind against me. I wondered if he would ever start to ask. Or at some point he'd feel comfortable asking. It wasn't that I thought he didn't want to; he'd just gotten some selfless idea in his head. Or like asking me for something or wanting me to do something back wasn't already something I wanted, too, or something that I was ready for.

I was surprised at how fucked my voice sounded. "Switch places with me."

"Hmm?"

"Switch places with me," I repeated a little louder. "So you're in front."

"Allison, this shower is too tiny for me to drop the soap."

I barked out a laugh. "Well then you don't have to worry about me slipping, do you?"

He chuckled but didn't respond back, and smirked at me when we started to shuffle around each other. It was tight and cramped, but we managed and I immediately loved this.

Because I wanted him to feel the same things he made me feel, and I wanted to give him more than the things he never asked for.

I grabbed the soap, deciding I'd do the same thing for him that he'd done for me.

He groaned when I dug my fingers into his neck, his head snapping back like it'd been a long time since anyone had done this for him, and I realized it probably had been. He had more relationship and hands-on experience with this than I did, but he was the first to admit he hadn't been a real relationship guy. And most women he slept with wouldn't have shared a shower with him, much less this.

I didn't really know what I was doing, but I just followed the same path that he had, digging my thumbs in down the length of his spine and I swear he almost shot out of the shower. I giggled at the sensitivity, but he seemed kind of lost in his own muscle release, and if he wanted to give me shit for the giggle, he didn't.

He grunted a lot; and his back and shoulders were really fucking tense, but I found myself oddly turned on by the sight of him this way. I couldn't ever have said that before either, that I'd found someone's back attractive, but as I ran my fingers over the hard muscles there, it was just…a really sexy part of him. I'd never really had the opportunity to see him this way until now. And that was a damn fucking shame, because there was a lot of him to appreciate. His back was broad and I loved watching the way his muscles moved. He had freckles all over in little patches and in lines and I ran my thumbs over them, too.

He had strong thighs that were scattered with fine hair, and a really cute ass that I definitely had not gotten the opportunity to take in until now. I tried to stay focused on the washing, but his body was pretty fucking distracting, and that felt like such an odd thing because I normally noticed very little about people and tried to avoid it a lot. I wanted to take him in. To memorize all the muscles and the skin and how he moved and responded.

Washing his chest was sort of difficult because he was so much taller than me, my arms couldn't reach from this angle as well, but I made sure I got most of it and was really amused by the way his body jerked when I ran my fingers over his nipples.

I think he was kind of surprised when I pressed myself into him, my own nipples hard as my tits pushed against his back, while my hips lined up right to his ass. He groaned at the contact, his head falling forward as I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him from behind.

I could feel his body start to tense again when my hand started moving lower and his hands came up to press against the shower wall as I reached for his cock. I didn't waste any time teasing him, because he hadn't done that to me either, and really, I wanted him to come. So I started stroking him the minute my hand was on him, urging him to spread his legs. He spread as wide as the shower would let him, but it was enough for my other hand to reach between his legs for his balls. I kept most of my attention on the head of his cock, rolling the foreskin over the ridge while I gently massaged his balls. His hips were rocking with my hand in a few minutes and the tension that he started with was springing up all over again as his orgasm neared. Watching the water roll off of his back and onto my skin was almost as mesmerizing as the motion of his hips.

I pressed my finger behind his balls when he was coming and it was a damn good thing he'd decided to brace against the wall because he might have been able to hold me up, but there was no fucking way I was holding him up, and he looked like he wanted to double over just like I had. He wound up panting and grunting with his forehead against the tile of the shower, arms slowly sliding down as I stroked the last of his come out. I fucking loved that I did that to him.

"Aw fuck, I'm gonna need another nap."

I chuckled and let go of his cock, moving my arms around his middle again, and pressed a kiss into his back. "You can take another nap after I show you something."

"Mmm…ok."

"You listening?" I snickered, squeezing him.

"Yeah. No. Kinda."

I laughed again, squeezing him a final time before I backed up. "Rinse off and come on. Our water isn't going to last much longer and then you'll be wide awake."

"Mmm."

I reached around him and turned the water off and he whined rather pathetically. "I'm all relaxed and loose and the water feels good."

I pushed the door open and he whined some more at the change in temperature.

"God, isn't orgasm supposed to make you less of a whiny bitch?" I asked, chucking a towel at his head which he totally missed and it landed on the floor.

He bent to get it and I appreciated the view, but he totally caught me and then wouldn't stop grinning at me.

"Fucking hell, get dressed."

"Am I allowed to wear my clothes or are you wearing them?"

I shrugged. "The flannel is comfortable. I guess you better look for that tee shirt."

"Maybe I should borrow one of your shirts instead."

"Oh, I have a really sexy robe you could wear."

"What color? 'Cause pink won't work. I could probably pull off green or blue, possibly purple, but it depends on the fabric."

"I suppose technically, it's not really a robe. More…lingerie."

"Kinky."

I smirked, nodding. "Sometimes."

"Good to know. Kinky's hot."

"Your momma know you like dressing in women's robes?"

"She probably would not be surprised. I don't think much of what I do anymore surprises her."

I found his shirt behind the chair. I had no fucking idea how it'd gotten there. I tossed it to him. "Here."

"Huh." He sounded disappointed.

I turned from where I was standing in front of the closet. "What?"

"Well, I thought perhaps this was some sort of grand scheme to keep me shirtless, but you just went ahead and dashed my hopes and dreams again."

"Yeah, I do that."

He was dressed before me, but in my defense, I had hair to comb out and I was a girl and all that shit. He wound up sitting on the bed while I finished getting ready. "So what's this thing you're gonna show me? Is it kinky?"

"Yeah, definitely," I said, winking at him. I threw on his flannel last while dressing, and held out my hand when I was ready. "C'mon."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

**TPOV**

Something that she wanted to show me that had the teasing possibility of kinkiness... I was so there. I grabbed her hand and let her lead me out the door. Instead of heading to the stairs like normal, we veered left instead. And I had no indication of what might be on the agenda; I never went past her door and had no idea what else was even in this building.

I admit I was rather curious when she first mentioned showing me something, but I managed to keep the asking to a minimum. Whatever it was, it couldn't be far unless we were taking some other exit out of the building. She lived close to the stairwell, and I never really paid much attention to the other apartments, but it didn't look like there were many that were inhabited on her floor. There was an entire section right after hers that was boarded shut, so I had no idea what the fuck went on there.

"How many people live in this building?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I dunno. Not that many. The first floor used to be a shops or stores or something but they closed a long time ago. I don't think there's anything in there anymore at all. I dunno though. I guess they could have rented it for something. I don't normally go in the other doors and I'm only down there to get mail and shit."

I nodded. "I've actually never seen another person in this building."

She laughed. "There are a few. We're sort of a mixed bag."

She led me to the end of the hallway and let go of my hand for a second to throw her shoulder into a massive door on the left that was made of metal, and at least two inches thick. I pushed with her when I realized, and I was surprised she could get the damn thing open herself. It was one heavy motherfucker. There were stairs behind it, and she waved me in, letting the door shut with a loud thud. There weren't that many stairs, but it had to lead to the roof or something because she lived on the top floor.

The door at the top of the stairs was identical to the one at the bottom and was blocking my way because she went up first and the stairs were too narrow for me to get around her. I leaned over her to push the door but she fucking elbowed me. "What?"

"I can get the fucking door."

She wasn't mad at me, she was smiling. I put my hands up. "God forbid a guy help you out with a heavy door," I teased.

She turned and elbowed me again, and I dropped down a couple stairs. Her elbows were really fucking pointy. "I just mean I can get the fucking thing myself. I didn't ask for your help."

I snickered. "You're just tiny; I thought maybe it would slip and you'd get smashed by it. But go ahead. I'll just watch you get smashed instead and then tell you 'I told you so.'"

Well, I didn't get another elbow, but I sure as hell got a look, and it was not one of amusement. I, of course, couldn't wipe the grin off my face even if I'd wanted to.

"You wanna see this or not?"

I tried to be less smug. "Yes, I would like to," I said sincerely.

She nodded. "Ok. Then shut the fuck up already."

I forced myself to say nothing else and just stood back and let her struggle with the door because she wanted to be fiercely independent at the moment.

Once she had it pushed open, she nodded for me to come up. "You know, it's ok to let me do shit sometimes. It's just…practical."

"I can do it myself."

"But I'm right here."

"But I can fucking do it myself."

"You have a problem with chivalry?"

"I hear that's dead."

I shook my head. "Not all the time. I don't pull out chairs or open car doors, but I will hold the door for you so it doesn't slam on your tiny little body."

She was trying not to laugh. She wound up rolling her eyes at me instead and taking a deep breath. She shrugged while nodding me in the direction away from the door. "This is it."

I turned and we were on the roof. Except this wasn't at all like the roof of our building that had literally, a lawn chair and Aidan's stupid bench press. This roof was huge; easily twice the size of ours and it looked like people actually used it. Aidan and I never saw other people from the building on our roof. There was a garden in one corner that looked like it had seen better days, a heavy, wooden lawn chair that looked like it wouldn't blow away in a hurricane, a swing that paint was peeling off of, a clothesline, and some other random shit placed around. There was also a little spot next to the stairs that was covered and must have served as storage because it had a table and a bunch of mismatched chairs. The side of the storage part that I could see was completely tagged in a mess of graffiti. Other tags and little spots of graffiti lined other places along the wall ledge that surrounded the building.

I turned back to her, smiling when I finished the once-over, but she wasn't by the door anymore. She was leaning on the ledge across the roof, looking up at the city. Her building was only four floors, so the view was somewhat limited, but it was still a pretty awesome view, even if you looked up instead of down. Sometimes the tallest buildings were too overwhelming from the ground. This gave you a little boost so they were sort of magnificent. A lot of the staples were missing, but I always thought a lot of them blended together anyway. When all the buildings are tall and square, it's sort of hard to give a shit differentiating.

I joined her over by the ledge, sliding next to her and leaning similarly.

She had a smile on her face that was the most content I'd seen outside of her bedroom. It was loud on the roof, but this was New York, and it wasn't any louder really than a lot of other places, even though she was close to the tunnel. She didn't seem at all affected by the noise or anything else. So I didn't say anything, because this place obviously meant a lot to her. It meant enough that she wanted to share it with me, so the least I could do was let her enjoy it.

It was a while before she said anything, and we both kind of leaned there and looked out or watched the people as they ran across the street and honked at each other in their cars, sirens, all the noise of the city that I'd heard my entire life. I wondered sometimes if I ever left and moved somewhere else if I could actually stand to live in silence. I didn't think I'd like it. I think the sounds became part of what was normal, and I even had trouble sleeping at my mother's house on the rare occasion I stayed there for a night. It was like an entire element was missing. Like we thrived on the activity even if we were sleeping.

"New York is the only city that I've ever been able to do this in," was the first thing she said.

I smiled and turned my head in her direction, but she still wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were closed. "If they have roofs like this in other cities, I never knew they existed where I lived. That's one of the things I love about New York. And that it's not as hot here as it is down South."

I almost didn't want to talk. Just let her keep telling me things. But her eyes opened like she was making sure I was still there.

I was still smiling. "Do you like the noise?"

She nodded. "I find it kind of distracting, but in a good day."

I nodded back. "I was just thinking about that. If I ever lived anywhere else, it would have to be noisy. I don't think I could function or sleep or anything without it now. It's just part of everything."

"Vegas was loud," she said, chuckling.

I laughed. "I'm sure it was."

"Not the same kind of loud though."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno, it's just different. New York seems really alive. Vegas is restless."

That was probably more accurate than most people could come up with.

"I like it better up here at night actually, when the city's all lit up, and the roof if basically lit by nothing else. You don't even need lights up here; the city does it for you. It's really pretty at night."

"Well, you'll have to bring me up when it's dark."

She cracked this sort of bashful smile, which was ridiculous because she wasn't trying to be coy, she was just legitimately bashful. "Yeah, I'll do that."

"What do you normally do up here? Just chill? You have barbeques or something with the rest of the building?"

She scoffed. "Uh, no. I mean, sometimes other people are up here when I'm up here, but I think we sort of have different schedules." She winked at me again. That was getting damn sexy. "I just sit a lot. Think. Not think. Zone out. Sometimes I'll take a nap or bring music up. Jordan and I eat up here every once in a while." She shrugged. "Nothing huge. I just like it up here. I think it's peaceful. Lots of air. And you realize how small everything is when you look out there." She nodded to the skyscrapers that littered the landscape of this city. "But I like being up high."

"We don't use the roof as much as we could, but I'll mess around on the guitar up there and Aidan has a bench press that he can't do shit on." I laughed. "Ours is much smaller though. This is a bigger space."

"Yeah, I think it's kind of an unwritten rule or whatever, we all just come up and use the shit and put it back. People buy shit and it sort of just shows up here. We don't worry about people stealing shit because it's all from thrift stores or sales or whatever. It's not worth stealing and then we all get to use the shit."

"That's a good. Apparently we can trust people in our building or else all our shit would be gone because of the lack of a lock."

"Yeah, you should really fix that."

I shrugged. "I have better things to do than fix that right now."

Her lip went behind her teeth. "You wanna sit down?"

"Sure."

"Chairs are over here."

"What about that chair?" I asked, pointing to the heavy wooden thing that wouldn't blow off in a hurricane.

She shook her head. "You can't use that one."

"Why not?"

"That's Mr. Sanderson's chair."

I looked around the roof. "I don't see Mr. Sanderson."

"No, he's, like, religious about the chair, dude. Or he's got fucking powers or something. He knows if someone sits in the chair or moves the chair. He's this crazy old man and I wouldn't piss him off. We'll just get other chairs."

"Oooook."

"Seriously, he's cracked. But he's cool. So we all leave his chair alone. It's important to him."

Ok then. Don't sit in Sanderson's chair. Got it. I followed her over to the storage and hauled two chairs out. "What's with the dead garden?"

She sighed. "I tried for a while to fix it. I'm just not good with the whole living plant thing."

"Whose garden is it?"

"I dunno really. I think some lady that used to live here made it. It was still green when we moved in, but I never saw anyone up here looking after it. I picked weeds and shit a few times, but I dunno what happened to her, it just all kind of fell apart because I didn't know how to keep it going."

"It looks like it was really nice when it started. I don't know anything about gardening, or I'd help."

"It's ok. I think someone would have to start all over now. There's, like, seriously technical shit to running it up here on the roof, and when she bailed or whatever, none of that got done. There's all this fucking drainage that has to be taken care of and that didn't happen, so now whenever it rains, we get water that drips from the ceiling in the kitchen. It's over the sink, so we don't really worry about it, and the landlord's a fuckhead, so it's sort of pointless. He gives us a break on the rent though because it leaks instead of fixing it, 'cause he'd have to do shit with this." She pointed to the depressed garden with all its brown, dead leaves and overgrown weeds. "We get water a few other places sometimes, too. I don't think he really does anything with the building. But we get the rent break, so..." She broke off and we sat our chairs down.

"I was kind of wondering why the rent wasn't breaking you guys. Other than the world's smallest fucking shower, the rest of the apartment's pretty big for New York."

She waved me off. "It's still a shithole. Just a little bit bigger shithole with constant water problems."

"I think it's pretty nice." I shrugged.

"Yeah, it's better than some places I've been. A huge step up."

Conversation kind of dropped off then, but we really didn't need it. I slouched in the chair until my head was resting on the back of it, even though that wasn't really comfortable because she'd told me I could nap up here and I intended to do so. I don't think I'd been sleeping, more dozing, when I heard something like a scraping sound. I pried my eyes open and she was moving a fucking twin mattress out from the storage place. She let it drop next to the storage and smiled at me, gesturing from across the rooftop.

"A mattress, huh? You think of everything up here?"

"I dunno where it came from. Things kind of just show up here. S'probably stolen. But it's clean-ish and you can sleep on it—that works for me."

I nodded. "Yeah, that's all you need." And promptly plopped down on it. I craned my head back up at her once I was sitting, squinting against the sun. "Am I napping alone?"

She smiled. "I'm not really tired."

I looked down and thought a second before craning and squinting some more. "Yeah, but you could sit here instead of the chair and be my pillow instead."

She laughed, debating. Didn't take long, though. "Yeah, ok."

Which is exactly how I wound up napping with my head in her lap and her hands in my hair, and I might have loved this fucking roof more than she did. To recap the day: I'd been woken to a supremely awesome blowjob; which is probably the best way to be woken, like, ever. Except if it was sex. That _might_ trump the blowjob. Might. Depends on the blowjob. And if all of hers were like that; competition would be fierce. There was something really sensual about being sucked to hardness. It was just a completely different feeling associated. Blowjobs were good no matter what, but being blown while you're already hard skips the getting there. I have no idea if women enjoy that, but it's way more powerful than starting in the middle of arousal. I suppose it would be like going down on a girl and getting her wet versus going down when she already was. At any rate, it's all good. She'd told me one time that when she blew me it would be something memorable and amazing, and she was absolutely right. Everything was perfect; just the right amount of suction, where her hands were, everything. She never lost eye contact and that was so essential. She even did this tongue under the foreskin shit that was just epic; like she knew the head of my cock would be that much more sensitive. And that was all before the sexy, "Good morning," before literally swallowing me down. If it wouldn't have been completely amazing, the speed at which I came would have been rather embarrassing. And she swallowed. Which was fifty times sexier.

She made everything seem more intense, and I think it was because I felt so strongly about her. I had to reciprocate, and wound up getting a handjob out of the deal, too. Seriously, this was best day ever and we hadn't even had breakfast yet!

In a lot of ways, her initiating the blowjob was a huge thing, because I didn't ask her for it and it wasn't in response to something I'd done to her. Indirectly, I'm sure she was rewarding me or reciprocating for the previous night, but she _wanted _to do it, too. And coupled with the unprovoked hair touching and kissing, she seemed to be letting that wall down more and more, and I was elated she was doing it with me. I kind of loved seeing the progress.

Seeing her standing in front of the stove in nothing but her underwear and my flannel shirt, so huge on her tiny frame, was out of some dream of domestic bliss. I was being overly romantic and dramatic, but I could see her there, in our apartment, making breakfast after we'd just had unbelievably great morning sex. She moved around the kitchen… happily that morning—with a lightness that even I didn't see a lot. Sure, she was happy with me a lot, but not like this, not this unguarded. Probably it had a lot to do with the fact that she didn't know I was watching her and she had no reason to be self-conscious or embarrassed about me seeing her. Not that my entire fixation was about how she looked, but damn, she looked good and it wasn't just the clothes or lack thereof. She was sexy and she didn't even know it. I think there was this distinction she made between the stage and off-stage; that she was or could be sexy there, but that ordinarily when she wasn't performing, she wasn't. I don't think she knew how to turn it off. Or at least, that's the way she seemed to me. It didn't matter what she was doing, I found it sexy. The way her body moved and the sort of rough delicateness that poured out of her, was so appealing. She bounced around that kitchen, and I loved that I had a part in that, that something she was doing with me was bringing that much happiness to her face. It just pervaded everything. Transformative.

I watched until she put the first pancake in the pan and then couldn't stop the compulsion to touch her again. She was way too hard on herself after she smacked me with the pancake flipper. Because she was so unguarded, I should have known better. I should have realized that coming at her that way, when she was unprotected, wouldn't go well. But there had to be a lot of shit in her past for her to be that defensive. It made me irrationally angry at everyone she'd ever encountered to make her feel that way in her own place-that it was still her first reaction, and I immediately decided I'd never be the cause of that again.

Sometimes it felt like there were all these speed bumps in the road we were on; but we kept moving after we drove over them, and I was determined that we'd just keep doing it. I also refused to let Jordan be one of the bumps. I don't know when I'd pissed on her Corn Flakes, but she'd taken a dislike to me, and I had no idea why.

So, forgetting Jordan. After the awesome breakfast complete with bacon, there was the shower. This shower looked like something that belonged in a camper instead of an apartment. It was the smallest fucking shower I'd ever seen in my life. It basically was concealed behind the bathroom door, and even when I'd had the door closed, I still hadn't noticed it was there. It was triangular in shape and the door was that old-looking frosted kind of glass. The only good thing about it being so tiny was the fact that it meant I basically got to be pressed up against her for the duration of the shower. So, in that respect, her shower was pure fucking win.

I liked that she was becoming familiar with me, and comfortable with everything from the proximity of me to her, to the ways I touched her, and the little side affections I peppered her with. Intimacy was something that it was quite obvious at first that she never really had with anyone before me—at least not in a healthy way, and part of me really wanted to just ask during those times, but I knew it would close her off, and I liked this openness far better. I wanted her to be able to tell me anything, but be able to have something with me that could be both sexual and intimate, and that didn't have to be mutually exclusive. She needed to know that intimacy wasn't just sex or physical. I sorta failed at that in the shower, I think, but because I went slow and washed her—I hoped she understood it, too.

I think I unknowingly or unintentionally forced things sometimes—like asking her to close her eyes before I washed her—it was really me asking for her trust. And I imagine some of those things I asked were probably unsettling for her, but she did them anyway, and that seemed to me always a really huge step. Just that she was able to trust me that much. Her skin was unbelievably smooth under my soapy fingers. And if I really thought about it, I wasn't normally this gentle or affectionate with women. I mean, I wasn't an asshole, but it was just different when it was a one-night stand in a bar, and we were both half drunk. Things were naturally more physical. Rougher. It had no meaning beyond just that. It was just sex. I didn't want that for her. I wanted her to feel everything—to experience it—to make up for all the losers she met in the past and erase their carelessness, erase whatever they'd done to make her this way.

When she copied all my motions from washing and massaging her, it told me that she liked it, and she wanted me to feel that, too. It'd been a long time since it felt like that with anyone—like it wasn't just physical for them, too. It'd been a long time since it felt like anyone gave a shit, and it made wanting all of that for her even easier. Loving her was exceedingly easy.

I have no idea how long I napped, but I didn't think it could have been very long. No blowjob wake-up this time, but my head was still in her lap. Her hands were unfortunately also missing, but she was leaning back on them instead, her head turned up towards the sun. She really looked beautiful. Happiness suited her; made her look less jaded. She hadn't noticed I was awake yet, and I was getting more opportunities to observe her today than I normally did.

Her face was turned up towards the sun and she looked incredibly happy. "You seem peaceful up here," I said quietly.

She didn't jump or seem shocked, she just turned her head down to me. "I do, huh?"

"Mmhmm. Is it just a roof thing?"

She shrugged, taking a deep breath. "I think so. I just like being up high."

"So you like being up really high, or just this high?"

She laughed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, Empire State Building high or is this a good level?"

She thought a minute, "I guess, I mean, I like being up high, but you can't really appreciate things the same way when you're Empire State high."

"You ever been?"

"To Empire State?"

"Yeah."

"Nah, we went to a few things when we first moved here, but never made it there."

"But normal buildings, high is good."

"Yeah." She nodded. "I think I'd rather look up than down."

"What's up there?" I pointed to the building that was connected to hers, that had an extra floor and a higher roof.

"The roof of the next building, dumbass," she threw back at me with a grin.

"Yeah, but that's higher. Why don't you go up there? There's a ladder." I jerked my thumb at it. "Are you just too short to reach?"

She flipped me off. "Because that's not our building."

"Yeah, and you follow all the rules like a good girl?"

Oh, pursed lips. "We went up there until the fuckers basically threw us off. Their building isn't a total shithole like this one. They didn't want us up there using their shit. They don't have the same feeling about sharing like we do over here. They're assholes."

"Well, I think we should educate them in the sprit of community."

She barked out a laugh. "It's just easier to ignore them. Less hassle."

"You want to be up high. I want you to be up high. That's higher. Let's go hang out up there and steal some of their shit."

"They do have better lawn chairs."

"Well what are we waiting for then?"

"Huh," she said; her face unreadable.

"What?"

"I dunno, I just didn't peg you as a thief. You don't scream 'criminal' to me."

"Do you not recall our unofficial first date?"

Her brows pulled down. "You mean the Chinese restaurant?"

I shook my head. "Before that."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"When we met, our first unofficial date, I got you arrested. Do you not remember?"

She burst out laughing. "You _got _me arrested?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Uh, no," she said, in the same exact tone I had said it to her. "I got myself arrested."

I shrugged. "Same difference. It was because of me."

"Pfffft. Yeah, ok. No. But ok."

"So you mean to tell me that you would have gotten arrested if I hadn't been there that night?"

"Well…"

"Right, so I got you arrested."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, just because you got arrested one time doesn't make you a badass, Tyler. And it sure doesn't make you a criminal."

I smirked. "I never said that was the first time I was arrested."

She smirked back. "How many times have you been arrested?"

I shrugged. "A few." I cocked my head. "How many times have you been arrested?"

Oh, now were back to shiftiness. She was trying to figure out how to avoid my question.

I snickered. "Seriously? How many?"

She shrugged, sighing. "Probably more than you'd think."

"For what?"

She shrugged again. "Lots of shit. We got into all sorts of shit in the group home in Florida."

"Who's 'we?'" I asked.

"This girl that I was friends with there. We got into a lot of shit. It was all juvy shit; they couldn't really hold us for long, and none of it went on record… but we did," she blew out a breath, "a lot of really stupid shit." She wasn't looking at me when she said the next part. "But they separated us then, and it all ended. I ran away after that."

"And your juvenile delinquent past ended there?"

She shook her head. "Nope. That was just the start."

I didn't say anything, but she wasn't elaborating either.

We spent a few minutes in relative silence again. She was looking off at the city when she said, "I used to take shit a lot. Here and there, wherever I went, I'd take a piece of it with me. Sorta just became a habit after a while, I think."

"So, what you're saying, is that grand-theft lawn furniture is not new and exciting to you?"

She turned to smile at me. "Well, I can say I don't think I've ever stolen lawn furniture before, no. That will be a new first."

"Excellent. Because I wouldn't want our life of crime to get boring. If you can't get the rush out of it, then what's the point?"

She looked at me for a really long minute before she did one of those congenial head bobs with a smile. And it occurred to me that what I'd said could have been taken the wrong way. And I don't think she'd misunderstood me and thought I'd meant our relationship. Because I didn't. I meant the stupid shit like getting us arrested. And there was probably was more truth there than it was teasing, and it was quite fucking obvious that she knew that, too.

"I've always wanted one of those umbrella things that go in the middle of the table…" she said, leaving it open ended.

I nodded, pointing. "I bet those assholes have one."

"They do." She nodded.

"Then let's go get you a table with an umbrella."

And thus began our descent into the world of patio pilferage. Obstacle number one occurred with the ladder itself. It was old, slightly rickety and rather high. I could reach it fine, but Allison was another matter. So I looked back at her as I assessed things from below. "So… we can do this one of two ways, I figure."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I can climb up there and hand shit down to you, but you're tiny, and that probably wouldn't work as well, nor would you be picking out your new furniture. Or, I can boost you up and we can both go."

"Yeah, that one." She nodded.

This probably would have been much more awkward had we not totally been fucking around. I made a vague motion with my hands to get her to move over to me, and then looked back at the ladder and then back to her, and then back to the ladder, totally thinking about all the ways I could do this, and how many potential ass grabs were involved in each one.

"Jesus Christ, Tyler, it's just a ladder. Fucking lean over and I'll get on your shoulders." She'd thrown her arms up during the middle of that like it as completely obvious.

And, well, that made a lot of sense, I suppose, and I couldn't really come up with anything better. This just had way less ass grabbing. So instead of trying to come up with a sarcastic remark, I just squatted so she could climb on.

Except, yeah, that lasted all of a few seconds. "I was only trying to come up with the way that gave me the most ass contact, but you had to go and ruin it."

I probably should have waited to say that until I'd fully stood up, but I didn't, and she almost lost her balance laughing. She wound up smacking the top of my head when I was standing up, holding onto her legs so she was steadier. I moved closer to the wall and basically just waited until I could feel her grab the ladder and start to pull herself up. I ducked under when she started up, and narrowly avoided a foot to the head that I don't think would have been completely accidental; but once I looked up, watching her crawl up the ladder more than made up for that. I didn't start up until she was to the top because I didn't think there was a reason to test the limits of the well-worn ladder, plus it was a decent show.

She peered over the side as I pulled myself up to climb, and I couldn't resist. "You have a great ass, you know."

"If you want to make it up to this rooftop, you should watch your mouth."

I chuckled and climbed the rest of the way in silence. A raised pair of eyebrows greeted me when I launched over the side. "What?" I asked innocently. "It's a nice ass!"

She put her hands on her hip., "Seriously? That's the best you can do?" She challenged, "You think that's the first time I've heard that?"

"Well, no. But mine's sincere."

"I'm sure a lot of others were sincere."

I scowled. "How many is 'a lot?' 'Cause… I don't think I like that."

Something between a scoff and a laugh came out. "You have a lot of competition. And a lot to learn."

"What?! Since when?!"

She shrugged, grinning.

I was about to say something else; I could feel the tension starting to mount as I formed some lame argument about her telling me she didn't date, and it was actually quite lengthy for on the spot, but I deflated after the grin kept widening. "Ugh, you are such a bitch."

She giggled. "God, you are SO easy. And yeah, but this bitch has a great ass." She totally threw that at me as she walked away, starting to look over the contents of the roof, her ass purposely swinging.

I hated, but secretly loved, how easily she could do that to me. And I wasn't sure of the reason. I wasn't particularly gullible or easily led, but for some reason, when she was using her serious voice, she could make me believe anything. And it usually only ended when she gave it away. I wondered if I was just that fucking earnest when it came to her, or if it was because I was already that afraid of losing this.

She was already half done casing the roof while I struggled to regain enough of my male dignity to move my feet. She just kept grinning at me, too. I obviously had to devise some revenge. Fast.

"What about this one?" She called out, pointing.

I moved over to where she was, not really noticing any particular furniture yet because I was one step behind her on the whole teasing part, and my brain was only working on that one level. Focusing on anything but her ass was already difficult at the moment. Revenge would have to wait if I was supposed to concentrate on actual furniture.

I nodded. "Yeah, it's nice."

"Better'n the shit chairs we got down there."

I nodded.

"I want it," she said, her tone something between petulant and demanding.

I snickered. "Ok." And took it over by the ladder. When I turned, she'd moved on to another part of the roof. And I couldn't stop snickering as I made my way back to her.

"What?"

I waved her off.

"What?!" She demanded.

"Nothing. It's just… I think we just picked out our first relationship chair. Or… rather, in typical fashion, you picked it out and I nodded appropriately."

She was looking at me sideways.

"Awww!" I added.

She shook her head before cracking a smile. "Actually, we just _stole_ our first chair, dipshit. I'm not sure what that says about us."

I shrugged, gesturing. "It's basically shopping."

She shook her head again. "It's no wonder you get arrested a lot. You're shit at being sneaky. You're probably totally gonna get us busted with all of your fucking romantic relationship bullshit."

"But you'll have all sorts of new furniture."

"Not if we get busted."

"I'll say I forced you up here. Forced you to steal your neighbor's furniture."

She turned to me, hands on her hips again, completely incredulous. "What cop, even the fucknuts that run this city, would believe that?"

I sidled up close to her, resting my hands on her hips and pulling her into me. "I can be very persuasive."

She shoved me away and I chuckled. "You can be very stupid is more like it. You'll probably grab some cop again and get your head split open." She started walking again, talking to me sideways, "And then I'll be forced to jump in there again and we'll be sharing a fucking cell."

"Well, drop the soap works better in jail," I threw at her. "And HA! See! I did get you arrested!"

She smirked and rolled her eyes, but she didn't answer me or confirm. Which, basically meant, I won. Instead, "Dude! That one's got a fucking thing to put your feet on! I want it!" came out.

I smiled. "It's nice, yeah. They got two? That way you don't have to fight me for it."

She scoffed. "Figured. I find the good shit and you want to steal it before I've even finished stealing it."

"Slow your roll, thief, there are two." I pointed. "Otherwise you could have just sat on my lap."

"Jesus, did you wake up with an ass obsession? It's just ass, ass, ass all of a sudden."

I shrugged. "I'm preoccupied apparently."

She turned to me. "I don't do anal, Tyler."

And abruptly, our teasing was over because she was really fucking serious with that statement, her body getting all tense. My eyebrows pulled down. "I don't remember me saying I wanted to."

She gave me a half-shrug, losing some of the rigidness. "Just so we're clear."

And then she broke off and moved to the polar opposite side of the roof. So… what was I to do with this exactly? Because when she thought she reacted to something strangely or prematurely in the past, she usually followed it up with a needless apology; but not this time. It was sort of like fitting puzzles together—continuous small puzzles that kept making a bigger one; one that was never finished. Where did this fit exactly? And what the fuck was I supposed to say now?

I wasn't sure I wanted to dwell on the subject honestly, because it wasn't likely I'd get a straight answer, and my imagination tended to fuck me over if I let it run too wild. So what made this different? I could ignore the whole thing took place, but that probably wasn't smart. For whatever reason, it was set in this different category, and ignoring it might make her think that I wasn't taking her seriously. So there was only one option then. I just had to figure out what the fuck I was gonna say about it before I got to the other side of the roof.

I wasn't surprised when I got to her. She was basically staring off at the city instead of looking at other shit to gank. I settled next to her, leaning on the ledge, and let myself get lost in the hugeness of New York for a few minutes. When I turned my attention back to her, she was throwing sideways glances like she wanted to start it, too, but had no more idea what the fuck to say than I really did.

"So… exactly what just happened there?" I decided on. Brilliant and well thought out, Tyler. If I could have facepalm-ed myself without losing cred, I would have.

The enormous sigh she let out wasn't exactly a surprise to me either. She shrugged after a few seconds. "A hang up, I guess?"

I nodded slowly. "Ok."

She laughed humorlessly. "One of my millions."

"Mmm."

She was chewing her lip to shreds, her gaze down at the brick on the ledge, finger tracing some pattern that wasn't really there.

"You wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head. "Not really, no."

I nodded back. "Ok."

I got the sense that the needless apology was coming, because she was getting fidgety along with her lip-chewing, so I pushed off the ledge before she could start. "Wanna steal an umbrella?"

She gave me a genuinely appreciative smile and nodded. "Yeah, definitely."

We hadn't nicked a ton of shit; three chairs, a table and umbrella, a few tiki torches that I insisted were necessary, and we were just about ready to head down, admiring our handiwork when she asked, "Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

There was a pause where she looked over the stuff. "How do we get this shit down?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, appraising the looted items. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, well… I mean, I can lower shit down to you."

She blinked at me. "How the fuck are you going to lower a table to me?"

I opened my mouth to answer, and then realized I didn't really have one.

"It's not like I can just pass it off to you, either. It's too heavy."

I let a beat pass where she was just looking at me. "Yeah. That is a problem," I finally said.

She burst out laughing. "You are a shit criminal."

"No, no, just the table won't go down. The rest I think I can hand off to you."

"I think you're full of shit. I think we're gonna have a fucking umbrella with no table and that's about it."

I shrugged. "We'll get a table later."

She snorted, shaking her head. "Well?"

"What?"

"Put the fucking table back. It's pretty goddamn obvious who stole the other shit if we leave it here."

"That is a very good point."

She clucked her tongue, still shaking her head at me as I started to move the table. "Yep, that's my boyfriend, master thief."

I wasn't sure what made me smile more, the fact that she was teasing me so quickly again or the fact she'd just verbally called me her boyfriend. Obviously, the latter.

She was looking at me strangely when I came back, grinning like a complete fool. "God, what now? You don't have more ideas, do you? Because we're already getting arrested for this shit."

I shook my head and stepped close, holding her face in my hands and kissed her softly. If it was possible to smile through an entire kiss, I would have accomplished it, because she hooked her fingers in my belt loops and sought me out when I started to pull back. When we parted, her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and I really could have cared less about the fucking patio furniture.

I sighed. "C'mon, let's get this shit down before I do something really stupid up here."

She giggled. "That's probably the smartest thing you've said today."

I scoffed. "Says the one arrested more than I've been."

She flipped me off as she went over the side on the ladder.

"You gonna be ok getting down from the ladder?"

She looked up at me, smiling. "Yeah, it's not that big of a drop."

Most of the stuff I had to sort of angle and drop; only the umbrella was actually long enough for me to hang onto and actually pass off, which was rather amusing all things considered. When I made it down, she was chewing her thumbnail. "We have another problem."

"What's that?"

"Where are we gonna put it? If we leave it out, all they'd have to do is look over the side and they'll know who took it, and I don't think the umbrella will fit in the storage space."

"Well we can hide the chairs in there and the torches. The umbrella though, I have no idea."

She looked at it a minute. "You think they'd notice it if we just put it against the wall there?"

"If they look down, probably."

"Not if we put it close to the wall. You know how when you look down on something, you're not really looking straight against the wall…"

I smirked. "You have a very criminal mind."

She shrugged. "Good thing, cause you're shit at being a criminal."

I laughed, "It's actually really sexy."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Put the umbrella over there. Hopefully they're stupid and they won't notice."

"We should grill," I announced.

She laughed. "We don't have a grill."

"We should get one. I could totally get in touch with my inner George Foreman. We could go look for one."

She smiled. "I have to work tonight."

I sighed heavily. "And here I had an evening of scouring for loot-able grills all planned. We could have tried to buy one off the back of a van. I'm sure there are plenty of shady vans around here in Hell's Kitchen."

"Yeah, there are, but we'll have to save that mission for another night. Because if you go alone, you'll probably get caught."

"You work tomorrow night?"

She shook her head. "No, tomorrow's available for more theft."

"Excellent." I helped her put the mattress away before we started heading for the door. I kind of hated to leave the roof. "I work until six, tomorrow."

She smirked at me over her shoulder. "And you just assume that I have nothing else going on, huh?"

"Well, if you had a hot date or something, I'd be more than happy to step aside."

She chuckled. "I could make you dinner."

I groaned. "I love dinner."

She laughed, pushing the door to the hallway open. "I know you do."

"Dinner would be great," I said sincerely as we made our way down the hall.

"I'll have it ready for, like, 6:30; does that work?"

"Yeah, totally."

She nodded and then turned and stood in front of her door. "You gotta go."

My brows pulled down. "Right now?"

"Yeah, I gotta get ready for work."

"I can't stay while you get ready?"

"No." She shook her head.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll be late then."

I snorted. "And why is that?"

"Because we'll get in the apartment and I won't want to stop kissing you and then it'll lead to other shit and I'll be late."

I smiled; happily surprised that was her answer. "Oh. Ok." I shifted closer. "So… do I get a goodbye kiss at least?"

She smirked back and held up a finger. "Just one."

I shrugged. "I can make one last."

"I'm sure you—" was all she got out before I pressed my mouth to hers. The rest was lost in the kiss, and her hand scrambled to cup the back of my neck as I pushed my tongue in her mouth. Her other hand was gripping at the bottom of my tee shirt as my hands circled around her and pulled her closer to me. I wasn't particularly forceful, but my intent was there. When I pulled back, she leaned into me and I steadied her before backing up.

She cleared her throat, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. "Well, then."

I smirked. "I'll, uh, I'll call you tomorrow."

She nodded. "Yeah, good, ok."

I turned and started towards the stairs, then backtracked a few steps. "I'll try to wait until mid-morning 'cause you work, but I might not make it. I have to work at nine."

She laughed. "Ok, well if I'm a bitch, it's because I busted my ass all night, and you woke me up."

I deliberated for a second, moving my head back and forth. "I'll shoot for lunch."

"Good plan."

"Night, Allison."

"Night, Tyler."

I may have somehow managed to saunter and dance down the stairs at the same time. And I knew I'd have a hard time not using the phone until lunch tomorrow.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: I don't normally do this, and I actually normally dislike when authors do it - but... I'm doing that thing where reviews are really appreciated, and if there are more, I'll post another chapter tonight. I was guilty (as a reader) of not commenting on stories that I thought were worth saying something. But it really doesn't take that long to just hit the lil review button and say what in particular you liked about a chapter. Thanks!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty **

* * *

**APOV **

He made it to 11:57am exactly.

"Did I wake you?"

I laughed. "Nope, I've been up for a while."

"Oh, good." He paused. "What'cha doin'?"

"Uhm. Nothing really. Thinking about what to make you for dinner."

"Ooooooooh, that's a good plan. Because I'm on my lunch break, and I'm walking to get a really inedible sandwich from a vending machine."

I never believed that saying about the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, even though I have a fuzzy memory of my grandmother saying that. I can't be sure it was her for real, or it was something I made up along the way, but it might have been partly true with Tyler. The boy liked food and he really seemed to like when I made it for him. "And did you have something in mind that you'd like?"

"Anything you make's gonna be better than this shit." I could hear the fall of something from the vending machine. "Surprise me."

Hmm. "How is work today?"

"It's fine." He paused. "How was yours last night?"

I snickered and tried not to let him hear it through the phone. I mean, it was incredibly sweet for him to ask, but I doubted he really wanted me to tell him about the dude that kept trying to grab my ass or the drunk bunch of frat boys that got their asses tossed out. "It was fine."

He hummed at me and I could tell he started on the sandwich.

"How's the grub?"

"It's disgusting. Thanks for asking."

I chuckled. "You could take a sandwich you know."

"How would I do that? If I leave from your place half the time?" There was a short pause. "Unless you're going to make me a sandwich. Then I'd totally get on board."

"Jesus, what the fuck am I? Your personal chef?"

"Pretty much."

"Asshole."

"Yeah, you like it."

What was annoying was that he was pretty much right. I did like it—I liked that he enjoyed when I made him food. He was very appreciative.

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late."

I shook my head even though he couldn't see me. "Do we have plans for tonight? Besides dinner I mean?"

I kept my voice completely expressionless. "Why? Did you have something on your mind?"

"No. Just thought you might."

There was a gap in the conversation as he ate a few more bites and I let him suffer in silence. "There was one thing I was thinking about," I said after a while.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"And what might that be? We do have a grill to buy off the back of a van."

"Well…we could buy a grill in a really shitty part of the neighborhood."

"Yeah."

"Or."

"Yeah?"

This was basically the eating out of my hand portion of the conversation. I think he was hanging on my every word. "You could make one last longer."

There was silence and then, "What?"

"You could make one last longer."

Another beat of silence. "I don't know what that means."

I chuckled quietly. "You'll figure it out." And then I hung up on him.

I felt extremely proud of that. I have no idea why. Probably because I could see him sitting somewhere eating a disgusting sandwich and thinking really hard about it.

I decided to make meatballs. It sort of just popped in there, and I never made it for him before. I also had a killer recipe in an old book that came from some quilting club or something. I dunno—all I could remember was the book had a quilt on the cover—and I went to my room to look for it. I just found the page for meatballs in mushroom gravy when my phone rang. I didn't need to look at the caller ID. Only he, Jordan and Yev, my boss at the club, had the number.

"I'm so disappointed," he said.

"Why?" I chuckled.

"Well, one, I'm not sure that sandwich will stay down."

I laughed.

"And two, it took me way too long to figure that out."

"I agree. It's very sad."

"And fuck the grill; we don't even need to eat. Or I can pick something up, and then we can get to making one last longer, sooner."

"No, I just found what I'm going to make, so we're gonna eat first."

"Ok. I'm cool with that. What are we having?"

"I thought I was supposed to surprise you."

"Whatever. Is it time to go yet?"

I giggled. "Not quite. Isn't your lunchtime almost over?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Yeah, well, obviously. I think I have to run to the store to pick up a few things and the sooner I get off the phone, the sooner I can start that. Or, ya know, spend some time thinking about that kiss being longer and getting off."

He sighed, groaning at the same time. "You just live to torture me now, don't you?"

"Pretty much," I teased. "Have a good rest of the day."

"Ugh. Yeah, right. I'll be having a great time shelving textbooks about advanced math. That's really sexual."

"Well, adding could be sexual—think about that instead."

"Fuck. I should have stuck with it being non-sexual."

"I'll see you after work."

Another sigh. "Ok."

I smirked while holding the phone for a second thinking if I really did enjoy torturing him, and decided I kinda did—if only because he liked me not because I was a stripper, or because of what I could do for him, but because I was just _me_. Just because I was Allison. That was enough for him. And that was really fucking powerful. I wrote down a few ingredients I needed from the recipe and literally ran into Jordan as I was coming out of my room. We hadn't talked since yesterday when she found us in the kitchen. And I really didn't want to have this conversation now, either. "Hey," I said.

"Hey," she said back.

And then that was pretty much it. Which wasn't like us at all. We may not have been the biggest talkers in the world, but we usually had shit to say to each other. It felt sort of strained. "Uhm, I have to go to the store to pick up a few things, do you need anything?"

"You seem pretty cheery about it."

I sighed. "Yeah, I was in a good mood." I may have stressed the 'was' a little more than I intended.

She folded her arms across her chest. "No, I don't need anything from the store. What do you need from the store?"

She wasn't just being nosy, she was fishing. And I was also sure she knew what I was going to say, so this was all pretty fucking pointless. "I'm making dinner for Tyler; I have to grab a few things."

Her mouth screwed up and the discussion was right there about to fall out of her mouth, but I didn't want it now. So I pushed past her. "You can join us if you want."

That stopped her short. She didn't know what to say then, but I could tell she felt bad. "No, I'm good."

"I'll see you in a few then," I said as I walked to the door, not leaving any room for her to keep the talk going.

I took a deep breath when I hit the street, dreading that the talk was coming anyway. I suppose a lot of it was just because I was sure I wasn't going to like what she had to say. I tried to push that out of my mind while I walked, focusing on the list.

Some teenager was lifting candy bars and a small bag of chips when I turned down an aisle in the store. If you were gonna shoplift, I would have suggested something you could sell on the streets, but maybe the kid was hungry or something. I'd been there, so it wasn't like I was gonna narc on him or anything. Hell, I'd been there yesterday.

Who'd have thought my boyfriend was a thief? And that I'd find that kind of really attractive? Even if he was a shit criminal, I still liked it. I'm not sure what that said about me. Or if it was a good thing. Probably not. Honestly, he surprised me with the roof stealing. I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me anymore, he didn't do what I expected. But he also wasn't as much of a badass as he thought he was, either. I knew guys back in NOLA and Vegas that would have chewed him up and spit him out within minutes of meeting him. He wasn't a pussy, and his temper made him stupidly brave, but I couldn't really say anything about that either. He still would never understand the level of tough that I knew. Wouldn't ever come close. I wondered what he'd think if I would have really told him about the stuff I'd stolen in my life. Hell, half the shit that was mine had been stolen from people. What hadn't been bought used had been nicked from foster parents and boyfriends and hotels and people I didn't even know. Some was survival; the rest was just the urge, or just because. There was a lot of shit I took just because I could. Not because I got away with it, but just because. That probably didn't make a lot of sense, but that sort of seemed like what we'd done yesterday.

I couldn't decide if I was happy or not that my trip to the store didn't take very long. It meant Jordan was still going to be hanging around and there wouldn't be a way of avoiding talking to her. Prep for this meal wasn't huge, so that meant I'd have to hide out in my room or actually talk.

I was unpacking the small bag when my phone rang again, and I thought it was odd that Tyler was calling again. His lunch break couldn't have been that long. "You miss me that much already?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone. And then someone cleared their throat. "Allison?"

Shit. "Yev?" _Shit._ "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else. I wasn't… why are you calling?" Best to just stop. The boss wasn't big on chit chat.

"Of course. Heather called in sick, I'm wondering if you can cover her shift tonight."

He never asked those kinds of questions as questions. It was more like being given the option not to say no.

Except, I never actually had plans on a night he wanted me to work before. And for the first time in my life, I really didn't want to go. It wasn't a normal 'I really don't want to go to work' kind of thing. It was the first time I had something better to do than go to work, something more fun, something for me.

Fuck. I never said no to him before. Not once. I could say no this one time, right? I mean, it wasn't like it was a regular shift I wasn't coming in for… I could fake being sick. Tell him I had the flu and couldn't come in. I always told him I'd pick up extra shifts though. If I said no, what would that do to my chances if it happened again? _Fuck._ What would I tell Tyler? I wanted to cook him dinner. I wanted to see him tonight.

"Allison."

"Sorry." I had to tell him something. Or stall at least. "Yeah, I mean, if I'm not in, Jordan will be or I'll find someone else, ok?"

There was a beat. He was probably surprised I even said anything other than a straight 'yes.'

"What time does the shift start?"

"Four."

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

He never said goodbye, there was no end to the call other than the sound of him hanging up. I didn't really have a lot to complain about. The owners were Russian, and none of them were 'Big Eddie.' From what I heard, he'd been the previous owner, and they either ran him out, bought him out, or he found a new place that came with an extra few holes in his head. We were also 99% sure they were Russian mob. So, it was best not to fuck with them. If you kept your head down and didn't ask questions about the bags leaving through the back room, did your job, they left you alone, treated you well. Yev was quiet but you knew not to fuck him over. He stayed mostly at a table in the back; that was his office. His brother, Anatoly bartended, and of the two, I felt much more comfortable around Anatoly. He had kinder eyes, and he tended to watch out for the girls, and would call the bouncer over if he thought there was trouble. So my options were pretty fucking limited. I could go in or I could try to ask Jordan if she'd cover. I really didn't want to do either. And we were friendly with the other girls in the club, but we weren't friends. If you were in this business long enough, you either found someone like Jordan, who'd be a trustworthy friend, or you kept to yourself. Attachments were dangerous and messy, and they could mean the difference between making rent or not. The competition could be kinda ruthless sometimes, which was pretty funny actually when the same girl that'd fuck you over for a lap dance would have your back the next second. So, we trusted the other girls more than most people, but there still was a line and friendship didn't cross over it.

"Christ, what does he call you like every five fucking minutes?"

Oh that was not what I needed to hear right now. I was already pissed off that I had to make this decision to begin with; Jordan giving me attitude would not help that. "No, it was fucking Yev," I said shortly.

Jordan turned, looking back at me with her arm already half into the fridge. "What's up?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Heather called in; he wants me to work tonight for her."

She clicked her tongue, her attention back to the fridge. "There goes lover boy's dinner, huh? Sucks to be him."

She chuckled to herself and I think she was actually surprised by the glare I was throwing her way when she looked my way again. "What?" She asked, both of us just standing there; me glaring and becoming more annoyed by the second with her lack of…everything. She popped the top on a can of Diet Coke and slurped at the foam on top. For some reason that annoyed me even more. She scowled at me. "What did you tell him?"

"Who?"

"The fuck you mean, who? Yev!"

I shifted my eyes away from her, glaring at the floor instead while I leaned against the counter.

"Oh my God. I can't believe this. You told him no!?"

"No," I said back quickly. "I didn't tell him no."

"But you're thinking about it."

"Why shouldn't I? I'm not even supposed to work tonight. And I have plans!"

"Plans?! Can you even hear yourself? You're just going to give up a night of work for him now? Work's how we make rent, sweetie. He gonna pay your share while you're cooking him dinner?"

"Oh, fuck you, Jordan. This isn't even a regular night of work! That's bullshit."

"It doesn't matter. We never turn down extra money. We've never turned down work before. And here again, he suddenly makes you change shit."

"He's not making me do anything! I _want_ to spend time with him."

"Well that's great, Allison. Maybe we should just get you one of those little aprons and you can just spend all your time making him meals and cleaning up after him like some fucking housewife and his daddy and their lawyer can come up with rent money for you. Hell, if you're already putting out, it won't even be a big switch—you can just slip right back to two years ago, only this'll be a much higher class clientele. Bang up job, Allison. Way to go. Maybe they'll even set you up in a nicer place and you can forget I even existed or hauled your sorry ass out of the hole you'd fallen into."

If she'd physically slapped me; it would have probably hurt less. And it was obvious she was not going to be covering this shift. I also was having a really hard time keeping a lid on the rage boiling inside. The tone and level of my voice even surprised me. "You know what I think Jordan? I think you're jealous."

"Of what?!"

"You're jealous that I actually found a decent guy and that he likes me and cares about me without me turning myself into a whore. I'm making my own decisions. If Tyler's done anything, he's made me realize I _can_ have other things. You're not my mother, Jordan. So stop acting like one, and maybe when you get your head out of your fucking ass, you can be the friend I remember."

I stormed past her and threw some clothes randomly into a bag for the night. I said nothing to her on my way out the door and slammed it for good measure. I wasn't sure what was making me angrier; that I had to go into work tonight and I couldn't find a way out of it, or that Jordan was so incredibly wrong about my entire relationship with Tyler. I don't think I usually dealt with anger or hurt very well. In the past, before New York, I just shut down; I went into shell-mode if I couldn't deal, but that didn't work once drugs, alcohol and all those other wonderfully numbing things weren't involved. And just living through shit was way harder and rawer than it used to be. At least at the moment, the anger was winning out. If I gave into the hurt, and let Jordan's words sink in, I'd probably start doubting what Tyler and I had, and it was the first good thing to happen to me since coming to this fucking city. The hurt didn't serve anything; at least the anger could keep you going.

Before I really knew it, I was already more than halfway to The Strand. I wanted to see Tyler, to tell him in person, and to try and save some goodness out of the day. It started out so well, and he made me happy. If I had to go into work and bail on dinner, fucking Jordan had only added to the shit storm. I knew he'd make me feel better. I thought about calling him first, telling him I was on the way, but I decided against that. I wanted to surprise him, see the look on his face when I was suddenly just there. I spent the rest of the walk in a much better mood, trying to forget about Jordan and the club.

The sign outside the store stated in very large letters that they had over 18 miles of books. They weren't lying. I don't even know how many floors there were to the fucking thing, but they actually have people that work there organized by floor. A girl that was part of the "basement staff" was nice enough to tell me where Tyler was and gave really good directions. Otherwise, I would still have been searching for him. The place was like a fucking maze. There were also more people there than should be legal. For that huge of a bookstore, you'd think there'd be plenty of room for people, but it was actually pretty crowded and it was the middle of the fucking day. It was kind of crazy.

When I turned down the aisle he was in, he was on a step ladder, shelving an unstable-looking stack of really huge books. So I watched him for a few minutes, finding myself really interested in how he moved and worked in public. It wasn't like I was checking to see if he was the Tyler I spent time with, it was more like I knew at work I wasn't the same person, and I was really curious to see if that was true for him. After a few minutes, it seemed stupid for me to even think that, because he wasn't a stripper; his job didn't mean that he had to be someone else. He was just Tyler wherever he went. I wondered if I even would know how to do that anymore—to just be myself at a job. Not that I even had any other options for working. Ugh. I shoved all that aside, focusing instead on just enjoying the watching. For a guy that claimed he didn't like working, he seemed pretty happy with what he was doing. He wasn't a book-shelving machine, but he didn't move slowly or slack at all. From what I could tell, he seemed to just stick to his business. Some short dude that looked like a gaming nerd asked him where the graphic novels were and I was impressed with the way he totally told him, without being completely unprofessional. He didn't even say it sarcastically. And then he just went back to shelving the books.

Seeing him in this place, in this atmosphere, it was exciting, like filling in a blank. I only knew Tyler outside of this place before, now I felt like I knew him when he was at work, too. He wasn't hard on the eyes, either. He was wearing jeans and his normal V-neck, white t-shirt. It sort of surprised me, I guess, that he could wear jeans to work, but going up and down the ladders wasn't something you'd want to do in really good clothes, either. The books he was shelving were large and heavy, and I realized it must have been the textbooks he talked about. He lifted two or more at a time and put them on the shelves, and let's just say I watched less of the whole picture and more of his arms for a while. I wondered if it was odd to be suddenly really attracted to him because of that. And quickly decided it wasn't odd. At all.

It was probably a little weirder to want to climb the ladder and just keep climbing him, too. His boss probably wouldn't appreciate that.

I moved slowly down the aisle so I looked like a regular customer and distractedly looked at the shelves as I got closer to him. I missed all of the titles because my focus was totally on him. Some other lady asked him where the romance novels were shelved and I caught myself before I snickered loudly. I stopped for a minute, wondering how he'd handle this one, because this chick was totally trying to flirt with him while asking. It wouldn't have surprised me if he flirted back, and I really don't think I would have been offended, either, but if he knew she was flirting, he ignored it completely. He was polite, but direct and sent her on her way. I had this feeling of pride mixed with butterflies in my chest and stomach watching that happen, because he had no idea I was there, and he wasn't at all interested in her. Jordan was so wrong.

And I really, really, really wanted him. Right now.

I stopped just short of the ladder so he was towering over me. "Excuse me, sir. I need a math textbook."

"Well you're in the right place then, becau–" He looked down with a small smile. "Allison?"

I waved, smiling up at him.

He nearly fell off the ladder getting down. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't even wait for an answer. And the butterflies exploded the next second because his arms went around me and he lifted me off the ground in a short hug before kissing me right in the middle of the fucking store. It wasn't the kiss that was going to last longer, it was short, but I felt lightheaded when he put me down, and I couldn't seem to wipe the smile off of my face. I felt like I couldn't get enough air to breathe. When he set me down his smile matched mine, and his hands landed on either side of my face before he leaned down and kissed me softly again.

When he pulled back again, I forced air to move into my lungs and managed to squeak out, "Surprise!" I looked down the aisle. "I hope this is ok. I mean, I was going to call, but I kinda wanted to—"

"It's great," he interrupted, his lips pressing to mine again. He needed to stop that if I was going to keep talking.

"You won't get in trouble?"

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. Aidan comes to visit me sometimes, too. As long as you get your work done, they don't really care."

I nodded. "Cool."

He looked _so_ fucking happy. "This is far better than his visits, though. Usually he harasses me before he pushes me off a ladder or something. You're much easier on the eyes, too."

I chuckled. "Good." I waved my hand. "This place is much bigger than I thought it was."

He nodded. "Yeah, it's huge. 18 miles of books."

I smirked. "Perfect for you."

He nodded again. "I like the books, yeah."

I sighed, not wanting him to get too happy about the visit because I had to tell him the reason I was here. "I do have some kinda bad news."

His face changed completely. "Are you ok?"

I touched his cheek, my other hand landing on his chest. "I'm fine. But I can't make you dinner tonight. My boss called and he needs me to cover for someone tonight."

He looked a little bit relieved. "Oh. That sucks. He couldn't get anyone else?"

I sighed. "Well, I was going to ask Jordan to cover it, but…" I avoided his eyes, looking down. "We kinda got into this huge fight right before I left, so that's not happening now. I'm it."

His fingers lifted my chin gently. "Fight about what?"

I shrugged, chewing on my lip, avoiding his eye line.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry."

I waved him off. "You don't need to be sorry. She obviously needed to tell me some shit and I told her some back. It's not you."

He scoffed. "Well you two seemed to get along fine before I came into the picture."

I shrugged again. "I'm tired of getting along. I like this."

A smile grew slowly. "I like this, too."

I bobbed my head for a few seconds. "So, yeah, I didn't want to just call and tell you, so I thought I'd break the bad news in person. And I wanted to see you," I added in a rush at the end.

"I'm glad you came down. My stomach is already revolting at the thought of what Aidan will suggest for dinner, though." He chuckled. "Maybe I'll take Caroline out somewhere instead."

"That's a good idea."

"So what time do you have to work?"

"Four."

"Shit."

"Do you get a break?"

"No…not, like, an official one anyway."

I sighed. "Damn."

He looked off down the aisle for a second before coming back to me. I smiled slightly, but I didn't ask him anything. I was about to pick up my bag and start to say goodbye when he suddenly bent to grab it and then grabbed my hand, and started pulling me with him. He started listing and dismissing sections of the bookstore, and we made turns down aisles only to turn back and check others again. He kept looking up, too, and I realized he was trying to find places where cameras weren't located. I started giggling as he got slightly angry when the one section he thought would be empty was not.

He turned to me, frustratingly running his hand through his hair and cracked a smile when I just kept giggling. "Fuck it, this way," he said, turning down several more aisles and I think we doubled back because these books were starting to look familiar. The aisle was momentarily clear and he took advantage of that, his mouth on mine before he even finished pressing me into the bookshelf. He dropped my bag and his arms went around me, his hips pushing into mine, and I could feel the bulge in his jeans already. I giggled as he pulled back and trailed kisses to my neck, making me alternate between laughing and gasping at him.

There were voices from down the aisle and he shoved away from me, growling angrily when they appeared, and snatched both my bag and my hand before we were off again. We kept turning down aisles and kissing and groping for stolen half-minutes until customers ruined it. He kept growling and getting angry, but I couldn't stop laughing. We must have started and stopped in seven different aisles before he had a light bulb moment and he directed me down a hallway that was marked 'Employees Only.'

I didn't ask if he was going to get in trouble. I didn't care, really. I probably should have, and he probably should have, too, but I wanted to feel him and that won out.

I let out a bark of laughter when I realized we were in a cleaning closet, but it had a lock. "You are a motherfucking genius."

He grinned and dropped my bag, and we spent a few hurried minutes kissing while trying to let our eyes adjust to the difference in lighting. The bookstore was really well lit; this closet, not so much. It had one lonely light in the middle of the room and nothing else.

We'd never been this hurried before; he always took his time getting me off and that just wasn't going to be possible now. So I broke away from his kissing and dropped to my knees, my hands already working on the button and zipper on his jeans before he even realized what I was doing.

"Fuck, Allison. You don't have to do that here. It can wait. That's not why I brought you in here."

His hands were under my arms, urging me up, and I shook him off. "I really, really want to."

He was going to say something else. Something pointless and stupid about me not doing this some more. So I shut him up, because while he was busy trying to come up with more reasons why I didn't need to be doing this, I already had his cock out and in my mouth.

He hissed and groaned right after, his head rolling back before more groans tumbled out. His Adam's apple bobbed wildly, once and then another time a second later, and then his eyes met mine the same time his hands landed on my head and shoulder. The hand on my shoulder kneaded for a second before that hand balled into a fist, while the other gently cupped the back of my head, his fingers winding in my hair.

His groan gained both volume and intensity when I hummed around him, his eyes slamming closed and his hips thrusting at me. He was warm and filling out in my mouth, fluid seeping out of the head and he still smelled like soap. This wasn't the time to draw things out, so I concentrated mostly on the head, pushing the foreskin back and using my tongue on the underside while hollowing my cheeks and sucking. I tugged him into my mouth while twisting my hand, only slowing and lightening the pressure when he started to come. In the space of the closet, the only sounds were of his quiet releasing grunts while I stroked and licked him through the orgasm. And it was strange how right it seemed, even if it was wrong we were doing it when he was supposed to be working. He didn't seem to care and it was totally contagious. The amount of feeling around him was always so high.

His hand stayed resting on my head the entire time, more like he was supporting it. Even though, or maybe because of the fact I'd only done this to him a couple times, it was such a different experience than what I was used to. There was no forced gagging or insisting pressure. And it wasn't at all like dudes that had wanted a _production_ out of the blowjob. He was just happy with whatever I wanted to do to him. It kind of made me want to do that to him anyway—to give him the production because he hadn't asked for it. I wondered how he'd react to something like that; if I suddenly broke out the really enthusiastic whore during a blowjob. I mean, I had the skill, why not use it if it was for something like this? And what guy who wasn't paying for it wouldn't enjoy that? I'd keep that in mind next time. His head had fallen back while he was coming, his throat exposed, making his swallowing rougher and louder. He slowly brought it back up and his eyes tracked down to me, still sucking him gently as he softened in my mouth. He shuddered as I pulled off gently, sucking his foreskin back over the head and stretching it until it slipped out of my mouth. A humming kind of moan tumbled from his mouth and he was breathing through his nose.

I smirked as I stood up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and tucked him back in his jeans. I didn't know how much time he really wanted to gamble with, so I wasn't expecting him to really get me off. I just wanted to see him, and it sort of led to this. I leaned into him, pressing my cheek into his chest and breathed deeply, the taste of him still in my mouth, and I wanted the warmth and smell of him with me all night if I wasn't going to be with him. His arms closed around me, and I felt his cheek nuzzle into my hair. He squeezed me tighter and I sighed into his chest.

Then he bent suddenly and hooked my legs around his waist, picking me up. I managed not to make any noise other than a gasp, but I hadn't expected it, and we moved deeper into the closet until he set me down, fingers immediately starting on my jeans. I chuckled as he made really fast work of getting them down, my underwear following quickly, and he only took enough time to get them all the way off of one leg after he picked me up and sat me on something that had to be a bench or low table.

"Tyler," I started, "You—" I started again, but stopped at the look he was throwing me, which clearly said, 'Don't fucking say it.' Then apparently it was his turn to drop to his knees and he inched me forward until I was closer to the edge and then everything was reduced to his wonderful hot, wet mouth. For the first few minutes, he only used his mouth; nothing else. His hands hooked under my thighs so he could hold me to him, and all his fingers did was knead gently while his thumbs caressed back and forth. It was so gentle, so unhurried, that I almost felt bad about the speed of his blowjob. My hand landed in his hair and all I did was flutter my hands through the strands back and forth and in circles because anything rougher just wouldn't have fit. I thought when he sat me down that this would be as fast and intense and sudden as his blowjob, but it seemed that it wasn't going to be that way. He worked his tongue into me slowly, licking and lapping while his nose rubbed into my clit. He moved his mouth there just before it started to drive me completely fucking crazy and I kept grinding myself into him trying to get him where I wanted it. The way his fingers were so gentle and light while his mouth and tongue were sucking and digging into my clit was totally distracting, but I think the differences made what his mouth was doing feel that much stronger.

I finally had to fucking ask him to use his fingers because I couldn't take it anymore. "Tyler," I whined. "Your hand." I stopped to take a completely useless breath because I felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. "Please." Funny how he could steal it and bring it back.

He backed up for half a second, smirked at me, and then thank fucking Christ his fingers were in me. His head dove back the next second and his mouth reattached to my clit, sucking on it until I was shoving myself forward on his hand. He was rougher with his fingers, twisting them before curling them up, forcing me to follow, and my fingers tightened in his hair as his tongue circled and flicked against my clit.

It felt like my whole body was shaking and I really wanted to scream at him, but had enough sense to remember where we were. The hand that wasn't tugging his hair to shit fisted in the material of his shirt by his shoulder and I somehow wound up half curled over him while my body tensed with the orgasm. He backed off my clit, but kept his fingers stroking while I rode out the orgasm, and I don't think it was at all comfortable with me half slumped on him, but he still managed to keep me propped up on the bench, his free hand spread over the small of my back.

I felt completely wobbly and I wasn't even standing up. And I really wished we were back at my apartment so I could just curl up in bed with him. Stripping was the last thing I wanted to do tonight. I sighed loudly.

He chuckled, prying my hand out of his hair.

"Sorry," I said, completely not meaning it.

"It's good."

Fuck. His voice was all gravelly and heavy, and when he sat back on his knees, I dove at his mouth all covered with my wetness.

He let out a little surprised sound, but his arms shot out to hold onto me and the little sound sort of morphed into a really long, drawn out moan into my mouth. It was probably a little selfish and possessive, but I loved the fact that he'd go back to work with me all over his face and fingers. Like if ignoring that chick hadn't already been enough, this was the ultimate show that he was mine. _Mine_. And I hope he liked that he could taste himself in my kiss as much as I did that I could taste me in his.

Eventually, he stood us up and helped me balance while getting my clothes back on. "Are you sure you have to go to work?" He asked, nuzzling his nose into my cheek when I was fully dressed again. "You could call in."

"I told him I'd be there. I can't call in now." Truthfully, I had another moment where I considered it. Because his mouth was right by my ear and his cheek was all stubbly and rough and all I could think about was feeling that on my skin.

"Ugh, but you could be sick suddenly. Or you tripped in the maintenance closet on your way to work and you hit your head. You need to go lie down and spend all night getting off with me."

I laughed, sighing. "Good try, but no. I have to go."

He huffed. "I'd call in."

"Yeah, well, I'm not you. I gotta work."

He threw me a glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that I have to work."

"And I don't?" He said with his eyebrows raised.

I shook my head. "Not as much as I do." I shoved at him. "Come on, you're gonna get caught, and I don't want to be responsible for you getting fired."

He opened the door slowly, poking his head out and then led us back out into the store. He was going to say something else to me, but a short little man with a nametag that clearly read "Stanley" and the title "Floor Manager" underneath, came by.

"I hope we can help you find something to take home next time," Tyler said, never missing a beat.

I smirked. "Oh, I'm very…satisfied with my shopping experience today. I'm taking that home."

He was trying really hard not to laugh.

I jerked my thumb at Tyler, looking at Stanley. "He's got excellent customer service. Very, very attentive. If you have employee of the month, he's your man."

Tyler coughed to cover up the laugh that time, but I think the dude was actually really pleased. He had _no_ fucking clue. But then, he didn't look like the kind of guy that would have a clue. Ever. "Well, I'm so happy to hear that, ma'am. I'll be sure to let upper management know." He nodded to Tyler. "Keep up the good work," and went on his way.

"I'll try," he said.

I nodded, licking my lips. "Yeah, keep _up_ the good work, Tyler."

He groaned, stepping towards me but I backed up. "You need to get back to that good work." I waved. "I'll see you later."

He sighed, frustrated. "Call me later, ok?"

I chuckled while I started to walk backwards to leave. "It'll be really late."

"I don't care."

"You'll be sleeping."

"Wake me up."

I nodded, blowing him a kiss. "Have a good night."

"Be careful."

"I will," I said, waving a final time and turning to leave. No one ever bothered enough to want me to be careful. I wasn't sure what had made me happiest; surprising him, seeing him ignore that chick, blowing him, him going down on me, or the furrowed brow and the serious way he just said that to me. I think the day had been saved even though I still had to go to work.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	21. Chapter 21

Thanks to everyone that reviewed! I'll get around to answering them individually. I want to give special mention to a few "Guest" reviewers who choose to remain anonymous. In particular, one was extremely nice, and I wanted to thank them individually, but can't through PM because they weren't logged in. Know that it was sincerely appreciated, and it definitely made my night. Thank you. :)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

**TPOV**

I wasn't sure what was worse, being at work and anticipating being with her, or being at work after she came to surprise me and blown me in the maintenance closet, and knowing I wouldn't see her until tomorrow. Even after she left, I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face no matter how hard I tried. It was amazing that she came to visit, even more amazing that she seemed to be missing me as much as I missed her. She made me feel like some lovesick teenager. And Christ, her mouth. Not even all the math textbooks in the world could save me there. I think I spent most of the rest of the day sporting wood just because I was in the same fucking building she did it in. This was probably not good for my work productivity.

I decided that seeing Caroline was probably a really good idea. I picked her up from school a few times on and off the last couple weeks, but I hadn't spent a lot of actual time with her. That was the only downside that came along with my lovesick teenager ways. So it was the perfect opportunity to reconnect.

I called as soon as I was through with work. "Hey, Picasso."

"Hi, Tyler."

"You busy tonight?"

"No." She paused. "Why? Are you coming over?"

"Did you eat dinner yet?"

"I think it's almost ready."

"Go ask mom if you can bail on dinner and go with me instead."

"Ok!"

I chuckled as I could hear her run down the hall. I loved that she was still excited to hang out with me. That probably wouldn't always be the case, so I wanted to make sure I was around as much as she wanted me to be. Michael had changed that without ever knowing. I wasn't really the best big brother before he was gone. I was always the middle child, and I'd been a little brother before I was ever a big brother. And I'd been much more comfortable in the little brother role. I was happy to let Michael be the big brother for Caroline, too. His death had sort of forced me into the other role, and I was sort of glad it had. I wasn't necessarily good at it, but I tried, and I think Caroline appreciated that more than anything else. I was there. That was most of life—showing up.

I might have been a little late, but I was always there.

"Tyler?"

"Hey, mom."

"How are you, honey?"

"I'm good. You? Les?"

"We're good. You want to take Caroline out to dinner?"

"Yeah, and whatever she wants. I haven't had a lot of time to hang out with her, so…"

"She'd love that."

"I'm on my way now. I'm just leaving work."

"Ok, we'll see you in a bit then."

I let Caroline pick the restaurant, and she decided on pizza, which was fine with me and we wound up eating it on the way to the MET, which was her first demand for our activities. Activities, plural, because mom gave us no curfew, it was a Friday and not a school night, and she deemed that I had not yet completely fulfilled my previous obligation to take her many places for the one time I missed picking her up when I stalked Allison's club for three days. That seemed like a really long time ago already.

She liked the _Drawings and Prints Collection_ the best out of all the collections they had, so we spent the whole time there, until the place closed. The kid could rattle off facts about artists I never heard of, and no matter how many times we went, no matter how many hours I spent hanging with her while she communed with the artwork, she'd happily go back the next day. Caroline was special; and much more mature than kids her age. Hell, she was more mature than I was. And introspective. She could pick out shit in paintings or drawings and analyze why the artist had drawn or painted something a certain way and she wasn't even a fucking teenager yet. She amazed me a lot. Just her perspective on everything and the way she was determined to make art come to life. It was profoundly deep shit for a kid her age.

She had crazy talent, too. I told her all the time that she'd have work displayed in some place like the MET one day, and I meant it.

If I could have given her anything, the only thing she lacked was people her age who understood that. Kids could be incredibly cruel and there weren't a lot of kids that shared Caroline's maturity and interests. And that fucking pretentious school she went to didn't help anything. It gave her opportunities, sure, but it also meant she had to truck with some of the city's most snobbish brats, too. She wasn't the kind of kid that acted out though, so there was no way she was going to get expelled or booted from a school like I did. The only assurance I could offer was that eventually it ended, and they'd all be miserable little fucks while she was a huge success. It wasn't cool to have your brother kick someone's ass for you, but I frequently had the urge when I picked her up from school. What was a few less uniformed bitches-in-training? The school could certainly survive without them. They stuck mostly to teasing her or telling her she was weird, but if they ever truly hurt her, there'd be hell to pay.

"You're taking me to a movie," she announced as we left the MET.

"Oh? I am, huh?"

"Yeah, it was one of the stipulations in the agreement we had."

"Well, then, by all means, I'm obligated to appease your request."

She smiled at me.

"What are we seeing?"

"I dunno. But there's popcorn in my future."

"This is getting to be a pretty expensive date."

She laughed. "I haven't even told you what's on the agenda for our next date."

"Oh, I can hardly wait," I teased. "Hey, you look at that book I gave you?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "The drawings are pretty cool. I didn't know that Michael liked that stuff. Mythology and all that."

I nodded. "Yeah, he liked the stories."

"I don't really remember him that much."

I nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah you were pretty little when he died." This was the one part that I disliked. She was an incredibly intuitive child, so she knew that asking our mother about Michael was something that hurt in ways we couldn't understand. So she usually deferred to me. Sometimes I had the answers she was looking for and other times I did not, but I never turned her down because I wanted her to know Michael even if she couldn't remember a lot about him. She didn't ask about his death a lot, which I was grateful for, and a lot of the things she did ask tended to bring more good memories than bad, so it usually balanced out. She reveled in stories about him, things from when we were kids and things that I hadn't recalled in years. We wound up talking about him all the way to the theater.

I don't even know what the name of the movie was that we saw. It was something I know my mother would never have taken her to, which was basically the point. As the cool older brother, I could do shit like that and get major points without the parental fallout because Caroline, while a good girl, could lie with a completely straight face, and that benefited both of us. She made up some truly awesome story about the animated movie that I took her to, and I just nodded in the appropriate places. If our mother had any indication we were lying through our teeth, she never let on, so she either approved of my deviancy or she knew saying something wouldn't have changed anything.

While Caroline got ready for bed, I had the usual talk with my mother about how things were going and got the normal looks of worry and concern that accompanied these talks no matter how many times I assured her that I was fine and I was happy. She was a social worker, which meant she had just enough psychology to be dangerous, so I think she spent a great deal of time looking for warning signs that I was going to end up like Michael or that I was eternally depressed. The fact that my relationship with my father was strained to the breaking point didn't help matters. So, per usual, I attempted to satisfy the anxiety she felt over the fact that my life was completely off track—as in, I didn't even have a foreseeable track on the horizon to shoot for. And somehow spin that to be positive.

I didn't tell her about Allison; that actually probably would have made her very happy, and I could have played that as an out for months, because relationships meant stability and blah, blah, blah. But I didn't. Because I kind of wanted to keep it for myself. I didn't want to use it just to my advantage so my mother felt better about my life.

Funny though, how Caroline always seemed to manage to weasel whatever she wanted out of me.

I came up to say goodnight, and she was busy shading in a portion of what looked a lot like me at the MET. I'd gotten used to being an unwitting subject of her art a long time ago. It didn't bother me anymore, so I wasn't surprised something from tonight was pouring out on the paper. She had this way though of being completely into her art, with all her focus funneled there, and she could still carry on a conversation without missing a beat of either one.

"So when do I get to meet her?"

"Who?" I asked, already knowing what she was asking me.

"The girl."

"What girl?" Playing this way wouldn't last long.

She turned her head to look at me, something between indignation and 'puh-lease' on her face.

I sighed. "I dunno."

"She's the one you had to apologize to?"

"Yes."

"Must have worked." She smirked, going back to the shading.

"Yeah, it did."

"Does mom know?"

"No, not yet." I paused and then added, "I wanted it to just be mine for a while."

She nodded like she completely understood and she probably did.

"Soon though. You'll be the first."

She smiled at me. "You should bring her when you pick me up from school some day."

I thought about that for a minute, wondering how Allison would react to that. "Maybe, yeah. Or maybe I'll pick you up and we'll meet her somewhere. I'll ask her, ok?"

She nodded. "Ok." We were quiet for a minute, the only sound from her pencil on the paper back and forth. She stopped after she finished a part and climbed into bed. "What does she do?"

I chuckled, scratching my forehead. "Uhm. Well." How do you tell your twelve-year-old sister that your girlfriend is a stripper? "She's a dancer." There! That was safe.

Unless Caroline is you sister. "A dancer… like… professional dancer? Ballet? That kind of dancer?"

Shit. "Uhm, no."

"Then what kind of dancer is she?"

Fuck it. "She's a stripper ok," I said, glancing at the door and hoping my mother wasn't hovering. "And if you tell mom," I started, but she didn't let me finish.

"Tyler," that was the 'puh-lease' tone again, "when have I ever told mom?"

I nodded. "Yeah, ok."

"She must be very confident."

I barked out a laugh. Only my sister would come up with that as a follow-up comment.

"I bet she's pretty."

I smiled warmly. "I think so, yeah."

"You really like her." She didn't say that as a question. Which probably meant I was fucked.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I do."

She nodded. "Then I want to meet her soon."

"Yeah, I'll ask her."

She rolled over and pulled the covers up and I bent to kiss her on the head. "Night, Tyler."

"Night."

I'd almost closed the door when she called out, "Thanks for tonight, Tyler."

"Anytime," I said quietly. It wasn't every day you scored both an awesome girlfriend and an awesome sister, so I was pretty damn lucky. I said goodnight to mom and Les, and it was almost midnight when I got back to the apartment. She'd be getting off of work soon, so I changed and then sat down debating reading something recreational or the book I was supposed to read, but never did, for class. The recreation won out and I dozed off about ten minutes in. My phone vibrating woke me, and I glanced at the clock, it was about an hour since I got home.

"Hey," I said, muffling a yawn.

"Were you sleeping?"

"I dozed off, yeah. How was work?"

"It was work," she said, and she sounded tired. I decided I probably didn't want to know the reason for that. "How was your night? What did you do?"

"Hung out with Caroline."

"Oh, that's good. Did she have fun?"

"Yeah, I think so." I paused for a second, and then decided to just go for it. "She wants to meet you."

There was dead silence on the other end for a good minute, and I didn't fill the void. She finally said, "Oh," very quietly.

I chuckled. "It's just my sister. She's twelve. Pretty harmless."

"Yeah," she said, sort of dangling it like she wanted to add something else.

"She can tell you're important to me."

"Oh," she said again, only this one was less quiet and more positive. "So…you talked about me then?"

"Not really. She just knows me. We talked a little bit, but not much." I'm not sure what possessed me to say the next thing because I knew she'd take it wrong. "No one else knows about you." So I mentally slapped myself and kept going, "I sort of wanted to keep you just for myself. But Caroline's not having that. So she'd like to meet you soon."

The whole pause and break thing in the conversation was sort of unnerving because I couldn't see her. I didn't know how to take all the silences. "Does…does she know what I do, Tyler?"

"Yes."

"Oh." That one was surprised. At least if she kept saying 'Oh,' I might be able to decipher one for each emotion. "And?"

"She doesn't care what you do. She just knows you make me happy."

I could hear the breath she let out. "Uh, ok." She chuckled. "You actually told your kid sister you're dating a stripper?"

"Yeah." I shrugged even though she couldn't see me. "We don't have a lot of secrets, Caroline and I. She's always been very mature."

"I guess," she said with another short chuckle.

"You busy tomorrow?"

"Nope. Just have to sleep. That's it."

"Ok, I work until four. I can be there after that… if you want, that is."

I could tell she was smiling. "Yeah, that'd be fine. We can do dinner then instead."

"Great."

"So I'll see you after four then."

"Yeah."

"Ok… night, then."

"Night." I tried to catch her, hoping she hadn't hung up. "Hey, Allison?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for surprising me today. I never really got the chance… I loved it."

"I liked it, too."

We didn't say goodnight again, and for some reason, I really loved that, too.

Work was brutal.

I spent most of it reliving various parts of the previous day every place I went. Because that was the aisle I first kissed her in, pressing her up against the books; and that was the aisle that we shifted to after the mother and her two brats nearly caught us; and that, that was the hallway that led to the maintenance closet. Which I'm sure I'd never be able to look at the same way again. Thankfully, Saturdays were normally really busy, so that kept me from having a hard-on for my entire shift.

I hadn't called her. Mostly because I was probably becoming extremely annoying in that it was difficult for me to go several hours without talking to her. I supposed I should ask her if that was completely suffocating or she didn't mind putting up with it. It wasn't a possessive thing really; quite the opposite actually. It was for me. I was simply becoming accustomed to her being there and then when she wasn't, it was just…off. It felt off.

When I got to her apartment, she answered almost before I was done with the first knock.

"Hi!" she said; a huge smile on her face.

I chuckled. "Hey."

She motioned me in. "C'mon, come in."

I stepped through the door and kicked it shut with my foot, pulling her into my arms and kissing her quickly, completely loving that there was no hesitation on her part, she just eased into it with me. She was wearing this amazingly silky shirt that felt almost like velvet under my fingers, and if I wouldn't have gone directly for her mouth, I might have known what color it was. I broke it off long before I really wanted to, resting my forehead against hers. Red. The shirt was red; like, bright, blazing fire-engine red. Dousing me with water might have been a good idea, because the way my fingers seemed intent on delighting themselves in the fabric and the intensity of the color did nothing for making me want to stop what I just started.

Down, boy.

"Hi," I said, smirking.

She giggled, fingers playing with the hair at the base of my neck. "Hi."

"I missed you."

"I can tell."

Good lead in. "Does that bother you? That I have a hard time going several hours without seeing or talking to you?"

She shook her head, rubbing her forehead against mine. "No, it's nice."

"So I'm not freaking you out, and making you think I'm a really possessive bastard?"

She smiled warmly, shaking her head again. "No, not yet. It's nice to be missed."

"Good." I pressed my lips to hers again. "You can tell me if it does. If I need to back off. And I'll attempt to control myself better."

She laughed, her hands cupping my neck. "I'll let you know."

"It smells great in here," I added. "And this shirt is seriously fucking with my control."

She looked bashful for a second and then nodded, saying, "Good," before pulling back and running her fingers down my arm until she linked our hands together. "Come on. Dinner's ready."

I may have moaned. Because seriously, what could be better? She pointed me to the table and then started talking while she moved around the kitchen. "So I found this recipe a long time ago and I've only made it once before, but when it sort of just flew in there when I was trying to think of something, and…" She made a vague hand motion. "Yeah."

"So what it is?" I asked excitedly.

"It's basically just meatballs, but they're in this soup-based gravy. It gives them a really good flavor."

"Sounds amazing."

She moved her head back and forth, squinting at me. "We'll see." She started putting dishes down in front of me on the table and Jesus, when she cooked, she went all out. I mean, a meal for me normally consisted of one thing. Here, yeah, there were meatballs in gravy, but there were also mashed potatoes, cooked carrots, and bread. "What do you want to drink?"

I was sort of lost in all the food. She snapped her fingers at me. "What?"

She smirked. "What do you want to drink? As soon as you tell me, you can stop drooling and eat."

"This smells so fucking good."

She snickered. "You want milk? A beer? Can you focus for a second?"

I tore my eyes back up to her. "Milk would be awesome."

She shook her head at me. "Jesus Christ, why don't you start already then before you chew a hole through the table or something."

Well, she didn't need to tell me twice. And I managed to finally accomplish speaking again probably halfway through the meal.

"You're cute when you're hungry," she said, smiling at me.

"You are such a fantastic cook. Seriously. You ever thought about cooking professionally?"

She balked at my suggestion. "Pfffft. No. Cooking for you is one thing, but you're really easy to please, too."

I shook my head. "No, I'm serious. You should totally cook for a living."

She considered this for a minute while I was happy to shovel more in my mouth. "No, I don't think so. I don't think I'd like it as much then, ya know?"

I nodded, bobbing my head for a few seconds while I chewed. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"I made you something else, too."

My head snapped up immediately. "Yeah?'

She nodded, getting up and…

"Oh, sweet motherfucking Christ, tell me that's pie."

She giggled and set it on the table, grabbing my other plate, and that's the only reason she could take it, too—because there was pie.

"There is no way you could be more awesome. Seriously, how did you get this awesome? And how did I get near you?"

She smiled at me, and I think for a second she thought I was kidding, but I totally wasn't, and she figured that out when my face didn't change at all. Her hand darted out and cupped my cheek for a second before cutting me a really large piece of pie.

"What kind is it?" I asked, more excitedly and animatedly than I probably should have.

She laughed at me while licking pie filling off of her thumb. "You're so cute. It's mixed berry. It was in the same cook book and it seemed more interesting than just one kind like apple or something. I mean, I know you like apple, 'cause you had it at the diner that night, but I thought this…" She shrugged. "I dunno. Hope you like more than just apple."

I nodded enthusiastically. "I do. Mixed berry is great."

And oh my God, was it ever. There was totally a reason why food and sex were linked together, and this was the reason. Because it was basically like an orgasm for your mouth.

After she thoroughly enjoyed teasing me about my love of food, we cleared the table and wound up chilling on the couch for a while. She was snuggled into me, her hand playing with my fingers and seriously, I couldn't think of anything better.

I tread lightly when I asked, "You and Jordan still pissed at each other?"

She nodded into my shoulder. "She's at work right now. We haven't talked since then."

I nodded in answer, but I didn't really know what else to say to that. "You think you'll work it out?"

"I dunno. Probably. We haven't had many fights… well, that's not true. We fight all the fucking time, but this was kinda different. Usually if we tell each other something, the other one has to agree eventually because we're being stupid. But we don't agree here, and I'm not changing my mind, so if she won't then…" She broke off, not filling in the rest.

We were silent for a few minutes until I brilliantly declared, "Imma dream about pie tonight."

She burst out laughing, her hand landing on my chest and her head tipping up to smile at me. "That good, huh?"

I nodded. "Totally that good." I let a beat pass. "Can I live here?"

She snorted.

I was only partly joking. "I mean, I suppose that would put more of a strain on things with Jordan, but think of all the food you could make then!"

"Yeah, think of how much the grocery bill would go up."

I scoffed. "I'd totally pay for groceries."

She settled back onto my shoulder. "I think we're a ways off from that."

I sighed, covering her hand with mine on my chest.

"Plus, you might not like me if we were together all the time."

"I highly doubt that."

She pulled back to scrutinize me, a lazy grin forming. "Is this about food or sex?"

"I'm having a hard time telling the difference, but it can be about either one."

She shook her head at me. "Uh huh."

"You go get the pie; I'll show you how sexual it can be."

More laughter. "I'm not eating pie off your dick or anything weird."

"Who said anything about you eating it?"

She fell into me, her mouth crashing into mine and I sort of wasn't expecting it. I compensated quickly but keeping up with her took me a minute. Her mouth and by corollary, tongue, was quite possibly the only thing better than the pie. And she was particularly aggressive with both her tongue sliding against mine and her teeth pulling my bottom lip with her when she backed up for a second.

"Still want the pie?"

My brain had to click again and I was already hard. "What fucking pie?"

She nodded, kissing me softer. "Exactly."

She straddled my lap and landed right on the bulge in my jeans, and ground down into me the second she felt it. "Pie really gets ya, huh?"

"Not the pie," I managed to gasp out before her mouth became completely relentless.

She had an awesome but completely chaotic balance between gentle and rough. And because it was chaotic, it was sometimes completely infuriating and frustrating. She would be grinding and nipping at my mouth, fists full of my hair or shirt, and have me completely ramped and unbelievably horny one second, and then she'd switch abruptly and I could barely feel her lips against mine, no tongue, no aggression, hands docile or simply running over my face and hair.

The worst part was I don't think it was at all intentional. I think whatever her emotion was at the time, that's what the response came out as. And I must have sparked multiple emotions.

Perhaps even more infuriating was that I really didn't care, no matter how much start and stop there was. I kind of liked that she could switch to gentle while wriggling her ass into my cock a second before. It fit her. It fit us.

There came a point though where a guy just couldn't take anymore, and I grabbed her, shifting her onto her back on the couch. She didn't have any argument for the switch; her legs wrapped around my hips, and I happily leaned to grind our pelvises together. It wasn't just me, either; she was pushing her hips up into me as much as I was shoving mine down against her.

The friction was unbelievably amazing and yet completely constricting. Jeans were both perfect and horrible for this. And I was convinced our lips were going to be swollen and bruised for days, but that didn't stop either one of us.

I realized suddenly as I was busy thrusting my hips up into her that if we lost the clothing, we'd totally be having sex right now. And I couldn't remember that last time I dry humped somebody and it felt this fucking awesome.

Her hands were clenched in the front of my shirt, pulling me into her, and then the next second they were pushing wildly and forcefully into my chest. I backed up immediately. "You ok?" I asked, my voice sounding completely fucked, as I searched her eyes.

There was a flash there, and she took a second to catch her breath before nodding enthusiastically. "Bed. Now."

I had no trouble keeping up with that, and clothing started coming off in the hallway. Her hair was down and the shirt, sweet fucking Christ the shirt, she unbuttoned and then wriggled it off of her small frame. I ripped my shirt over my head quickly, because missing anything wasn't an option. She lost only her shirt before the bedroom, tossing it in her room before turning back to me and walking backwards the rest of the way in the room and toward the bed, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans along the way. She shimmied out of them slowly, and sat down to get them all the way off, flicking them with her feet in the last second.

I watched, holding onto the doorframe, as she reclined back, resting on her elbows and hooked a finger, inviting me in. "C'mere."

Keeping up seemed so much clearer now; and it seemed easier. Maybe it was all the blood rushing to my dick, which didn't make any cognitive sense but made a whole shitload of cock sense.

She lurched up just as I was about to descend and her fingers went straight for the button and fly on my jeans, her fingers urgent but deliberate. She pushed them down roughly before spinning us around, shoving me until I landed on the bed, chuckling at her. She tried once unsuccessfully to rid me of the pants while my shoes were still on and then thought better of it, and threw me this look that clearly said that I should be helping. I toed off both shoes and she yanked the jeans off before I was thrown another lapful of grinding girlfriend. My hands automatically went to her back, fanning out, my fingertips tracing up her spine until I reached her bra and then carefully unhooked the clasp. I think the sense of urgency was setting in because she refused to do anything slowly then, tossing the bra off to the left and then shoving her tongue back in my mouth with no preamble, her breasts crushing into my chest. And just as soon as I had the lapful, she was pushing me to lie back and her fingers raked down my chest until they were under the waistband of my boxer briefs, and she had those off before I really knew it, too. I'd say she was getting a little impatient.

I rose to my elbows, fully intending to divest her of her remaining undergarment, but somewhere along the line, or maybe she'd been plotting this course all day, she acquired a plan with a purpose, because her look was suddenly very resolute and focused and my God, was it the epitome of sexy. Because I was the subject of the focus and having it fixed on you was about the best damn thing I've ever seen.

She had this lazy smirk plastered on her face, too, and a hint of a predatory gleam in her eye and if she kept this shit up, this was gonna be a really early night, because it went from all lazy smirk, gleaming, to my cock down her throat and her swallowing so fast I completely missed the part where she moved back between my legs. And this was really fucking intense. She didn't back off, and when I managed to bring my gaze back to look at her, I almost came right there. Eye contact is a really big thing with sex, and she had that down in spades, basically slurping all over my cock, saliva coating her chin, and she just kept taking me all the way in. I was already halfway to aneurysm when she started fucking humming, her throat working on swallowing, her fucking tongue doing shit I wasn't even capable of describing or putting into words and all the while, her eyes never leaving mine and holy mother of fuck, she needed to stop this.

No one could _ever_ say, _ever_ again, that I had no self-control. Because it took every ounce to slowly push her back and not want to shove my hips forward and up instead, forcing her throat to take me in again. Every. Ounce. Of. Self. Control.

She looked surprised, one; and confused, two. I shook my head, trying to form coherent words in any language close to English. I think I finally managed, "Not tonight." Which I'm sure didn't really help with the confusion. So I quickly added, "You, too."

The confusion wasn't lost though, and I got a furrowed brow and a kinda pissed look because I think she'd rather been enjoying making my eyes roll back in my head. I scooted back on the bed and motioned for her to join me. "Lose the underwear." She complied easily, and tried to approach the bed like normal, crawling towards me but I shook my head again and made a circle motion in the air so she'd turn around, and in all my infinite wisdom, this was one of the best ideas I had, ever.

She moaned before I even got near her, realizing what I set up, and I took that moan as quite the compliment, given that she just reduced me to a whimpering mess with her sneak attack deep throat-ing. I shoved one of the pillows under my head and then rested my hands on her hips to start, drawing her back towards me and moaning at the sight of her this way. I didn't waste any time then, my hands palming over soft skin on her ass, thumbs digging into her thighs, while I could smell her arousal and see the wetness just waiting for my mouth. 69 was odd; you can be very focused on what you're doing, while still being completely distracted, and since I was starting, she was in full-on distracted mode. Her hand was gripping my cock lightly, but her forehead was pressed into my upper thigh, and she jerked and moaned at the same time when I made the first pass with my tongue. I used my thumbs to part her lips, flicking my tongue over her clit until she pressed back into my mouth before I sealed my mouth over her center, darting my tongue into her opening. I eased my grip on her hips, letting my fingers ghost over the skin, too much skin to touch, too much to lick, especially when her body started grinding back on my face.

I stopped for a minute, deciding what I wanted to do next, and the small reprieve was all she needed to move her own mouth, descending on me again without warning, head of my cock in the back of her throat almost before I even knew it. I couldn't help the kick my hips gave, but she took that, too, her palms resting on my hipbones. She flexed her hands on my hips; just a gentle flex, but her mouth didn't move and I didn't either. It was sort of difficult to ascertain what she wanted me to do here, what with her mouth full of my cock, and my brain function pretty much focused on that mouth. She sucked back off of me quickly, but fuck, it felt good, and said only one word to me, not turning to moving from her position. "Thrust."

My brain couldn't process fast enough but my dick was happy to comply. Her head dipped back down, her tongue laving over the head of my cock while her lips sealed more loosely around my length. If I needed any final encouragement, her fingers flexed again, and that was enough to get my hips moving. I can honestly say no one had ever done that to me before. For starters, I don't think a lot of women were willing to give up that level of control; it was sort of a trust thing, but with so much more mixed in. Second, I don't think a lot of women could, and I wasn't exactly surprised she could, but sweet motherfucking Christ, did this girl's awesomeness never end? I obviously already knew the answer.

I would have never thought of this. In anything other than this setting, unless I was actively trying to be an asshole, I just wouldn't have expected anyone to. And I really had no idea what it meant that she was. In a lot of ways, this was a total submission; but at the same time her teeth could have chewed my dick to pieces if she didn't like the way I moved in her mouth. The fact that she prompted it said something so huge about her level of trust in me that I almost didn't want to even do it. But she seemed to want me to, so I started thrusting lazily in her mouth… until she got pissed at me and pulled off again. She stayed facing away from me again. "You gonna thrust or what?"

And there was the challenge. Because she wasn't being huffy or angry really, she offered this and I wasn't taking full advantage or something. And while a very large part of me totally was cool with thrusting my hips up until my back ached and my cock was buried in her throat, I still didn't want to do that to her. I started this position so we could both get something out of it; so I'd just answer her challenge right back.

She sank down again, and every time she pulled off the difference in temperature was enough to be completely consuming when the heat of her mouth descended again. And for a minute or so, I more actively pursued her offering; my hands spread over her back to her hips, holding onto her while I explored the limits of her throat. I still got the impression she was expecting me to take more; so I made sure I didn't.

There really aren't discernable words for what this must have looked like if the sounds were any indication. She never gagged, only shifted, and took whatever length of my cock I thrust in her mouth. Her hands stayed flexing gently on my hips, no tension or distress. This was probably as close to any type of celestial afterlife I was ever going to get, and I was damn sure I was going to return the favor.

Pulling away or refocusing on her was difficult because her mouth was about the most fucking amazing thing ever, but this wasn't just about me, no matter what her current plans were.

I think I managed the transition quite expertly. I don't think she saw it coming. And the only time she ever faltered or gagged was when I started to move my hands from her hips up to her back and down her sides, my fingers skimming over her smooth skin until I reached her breasts. I palmed them both, kneading gently, and lapped at her the same time my fingers started tugging gently on her nipples. And backed off all the thrusting immediately when she kinda sounded like she was choking on my cock. Heh. Never saw that coming. She pushed back on my face completely involuntarily, my fingers gently twisting her nipples, while my tongue re-explored the added wetness at her center. We worked out this sort of chaotic, symbiotic rhythm, where I would thrust and she would suck and then I'd suck on her clit, only to have her start moaning and humming around my cock and start the whole process over again.

I broke it only to move a hand back so I could get my fingers inside her, two curling down while my thumb circled her clit. The more I pressed my fingers down into her front wall, the harder she sucked, like the two actions were connected by some invisible wire.

And if both of us didn't come pretty soon, shit might have just gotten broken, fer fuckin' serious. It was like I couldn't feel anything but where she was touching me in some way; not the bed, not the pillow, nothing else but her body and that sweet fucking mouth. It felt very… transcendent, but with complete awareness…which probably wasn't possible, but I didn't really care. I could feel her body tensing, the way she shifted and pushed back on me, riding the accumulated intensity like a wave, waiting for it to crash and break.

She jerked almost violently when it did, and I actually moved my hand to her side, attempting to steady her with my other hand while she sucked me off into my own orgasm. The relief after all the concentration and build up was nearly overwhelming. Tiring and potent.

She slumped while licking me clean, her breasts pressing into my stomach, nipples pebble-hard, before letting me slip from her mouth and resting her head on my thigh. I could hear her ragged breathing, could feel it hot on my thigh, her hand lazily stroking me, her body still shuddering as I licked at her just as lazily as she was stroking me.

I felt completely wrung out, and yet, I wanted more of her—like I couldn't ever get enough. Like nothing would ever completely sate the need. I ran my fingers over her ass, continuing up her back and back down again, her back arching at the feeling, but her mouth only letting out a sigh that sounded as contented as I felt.

"C'mup here by me," sort of vibrated out of somewhere in my chest and for a second her movements were all stunted and choppy, like her muscles weren't obeying anymore, and I knew exactly how she felt. Once she started to turn, I reached out and pulled her the rest of the way so she was lying on my chest, her soft hair right under my chin.

That lasted all of a few minutes before she rolled off on her side, pulling my hand over her stomach with her as she rolled and lined us up like spoons. I curled around her happily, wiggling my arm under her, and pulled her back so there was no space between us at all. I'd been soft maybe all of five minutes total, but her ass grinding back into me brought it back to hardness almost instantly. Her hand landed on my thigh, kneading, and it wasn't difficult to find a way to get the friction I wanted, rubbing and riding my cock in the groove between her cheeks. I had one handful of her breast while the other was slowly sliding down to roll her clit between my fingers, and I couldn't get enough of the way her head pressed back into my shoulder, the way her neck became completely exposed for my tongue to lick and my lips to kiss and suck on. I made one trail down to her shoulder and back, nipping when I got back to her neck and I may have been a little overzealous with the sucking in that spot, but the little reddish-purple mark just made everything seem that much more intense, too. Because she'd wear it for days and it was probably the first thing that actually physically said she belonged to me. Everyone would see it. And well, that kinda got to me. I groaned into her ear as I dipped my tongue there, her mouth parting on her own moan, and her body jerking back into mine, like a wall that she could just continuously bounce off of. I rolled my tongue around the shell of her ear before sucking gently on the lobe, and shit, I could feel the wetness from her starting to coat the head of my cock as I rode that groove.

I hadn't actively been trying, but the more she wriggled against me, the more she responded to my hand kneading her breast and rolling her nipple, the closer my cock kept getting to her center. And I wasn't paying that close attention to how close it was until just the tip prodded at her opening. Her back pushed into my stomach and she gasped along with me, her head snapping back, like her body was warring in different directions.

"You wanna?" I mumbled into her ear while nibbling on her lobe, tapping her clit at the same time.

She nodded, gasping again. "Yeah."

I shifted, pulling her back and holding her there. Her fingers clamped on my thigh, her whole body rigid as I started to enter her. And I was wrong. So fucking wrong. Because her mouth couldn't even begin to compare to this. Nothing could. The startling smoothness of her walls around my cock and pushing into that unbelievably hot, wet heat—there wouldn't be an equal to this. Ever.

I sank deeper and deeper, inch by deliriously slow inch until I was fully sheathed inside her. And I kind of didn't want to move at all. Thrusting now seemed kind of…wrong. I just wanted to stay buried in the heat, if it wouldn't have been for the need building inside me, the orgasm that was probably going to be much faster than I wanted it to be this time.

Except, I didn't need to worry about the thrusting. Because she was suddenly pulling away and that was just wrong. Where was she going?

I felt drowsy, lazy, like everything was kind of muted and hazy and it seemed like the perfect kind of sex for that. So she didn't need to have some other kind of plan for this. This was fine. This was great. Sleepy-ish. We could nap after.

I heard my name and it was just wrong. It cleared my head instantly.

"Allison?"

She was still pulling away from me and it was at a desperate point now.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

"No."

"What?"

"Pull out, Tyler." Her voice scared me. All authoritative and completely broken at the same time.

I backed off immediately, moving my hands away from her, too, as I eased out of her. "What…"

"No," she said again, curling up on her side, going all fetal on me.

"Allison, what's going on?" What the fuck just happened there? "What happened? Are you ok?" I had all of these racing thoughts; like, had I missed something? Had I missed where she hadn't wanted this? Where she hadn't nodded? I hadn't made that shit up. I…wouldn't have done anything if she wouldn't have agreed, and it's not like it was planned, it just sort of happened.

Christ, she was crying, but like a mewling kind of crying, with lots of tears and not a lot of vocalization. And I didn't know what the fuck to do. I curled around her again, and she completely freaked, like I was a hot coal she had to shoot away from. She scrambled away from me until her back hit the wall, and I put my hands up uselessly. I couldn't read her eyes at all, and that was scarier than her scurrying away from me. I shook my head. "I don't understand. You gotta help me out here. What did I do?"

No answer.

I shook my head again, all short and choppy. "I'm not…I'm not gonna hurt you. You know that, right?"

She looked away from me. That certainly wasn't encouraging.

Ok. I could try to rationalize this. Or try to reason with her. "Look, I don't know what's going on. I mean," I paused, running my hand through my hair while I was thinking, "I asked and you said it was ok. I would never. You know I would never. I didn't…" She wasn't even looking at me, so I'm not sure what I was trying to accomplish here.

Well, I know exactly what I was trying to accomplish. I was trying not to be some asshole who just tried something without getting her consent first. No. I asked. I know I asked. And she nodded. And responded. And seemed to be enjoying it.

What had I fucking missed? Was this something from the past that I couldn't even begin to touch yet? Something I didn't know that had happened to her and I somehow fucked it up by just letting this happen and not thinking about positioning and shit?

I looked at her again, and she hadn't moved from the spot she landed in, still pressed against the wall with tear tracks on her face. Silent tears just kept pouring out and it was kind of scaring me that there was no vocalization to go with it. Like there was some sort of psychological reason she wasn't actively crying or something. I dunno. I was completely out of my element here. I thought I could read her pretty well, thought I knew what she was thinking, tried to be sensitive to what she needed or what might have happened to her. What she wouldn't talk about. But the reality was, I didn't know anything. I had no conception of what her life had been like beyond the scraps that I managed to collect along the way. And it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to know that I shouldn't have let this happen. It wasn't enough to know that something had gone horribly wrong a few minutes ago and I hadn't even had an inkling that it was going to happen. I should have. I should have known because now she was like this and I didn't fucking know what to do.

I sighed heavily. "Can you just talk to me? Tell me what happened? If it was something I did or…"

She wasn't even in the room with me. I mean, she was here, sure, physically, but her mind was miles away. I didn't think she'd heard a word I said. I inched closer and started to reach out a hand, tentative, like she was some scared fucking animal or something. And once the movement registered, she shifted farther away.

"Ah, fuck." Now I was just getting pissed off. What could have possibly happened in the span of like half a minute to get her to this point, where apparently I couldn't even approach her even though she'd had my dick in her mouth within the last half hour?

I sighed, frustrated. "Allison, come on. I can't work with nothing here."

I got no response.

This was so fucked up. I mean, what was I supposed to do now? I couldn't just leave her like this. And it wasn't like I could take her to a hospital or something, I didn't even know what the fuck had happened and it wasn't like she was gonna let me get her dressed and shit. I felt fairly ridiculous when I realized I was kneeling on her bed completely naked and trying to have this psychological conversation with her. I pushed off the bed, starting to look for clothing articles and started roughly putting them back on. Blessedly, I had a pack of cigarettes in the back pocket of my jeans and I lit one the second I was dressed. That would help me think. Help me calm down and figure out what the hell I was supposed to do now. I sat down on the edge of the bed closest to her and chuckled humorlessly. "Wanna cigarette?"

I mean, of all the mundane and stupid things to ask someone who was having a mental-sexual breakdown or something. I sighed, tossing the pack and the lighter next to me on the bed, and was _completely_ surprised when she suddenly scuttled over and grabbed both the pack and the lighter, and totally lit one up after she was a safe distance away from me again.

"Well, fuck me."

She winced, and I realized her hands were shaking. In fact, all of her was shaking, and that was probably not the best choice of words given the situation. She took the longest fucking drag I've ever seen anyone take on a cigarette and coughed on the exhale. She hadn't smoked in I didn't know how long. Fuck, _I didn't even know that_. Christ, did I know anything? I was beginning to think I didn't.

I scrubbed a hand over my face roughly as I sighed again, turning to look at her. She looked so…fragile. And haunted. She looked so fucking small all curled into herself, her arms around her knees and that cigarette teetering from her tiny fingers. She had such delicate fingers. I never thought she'd ever look this way because of me. I fucked this up so badly.

I started running through possible scenarios about what I could do. How I could pull her out. Anger was totally out. She'd nearly shot off the bed when I'd gotten up to get dressed. I didn't even know Jordan's number, and I wasn't going to leave her to go to the club. Aidan would be useless, and the only other person that I knew that cared about her was that guy from the postcard. I seriously considered calling him, but it wasn't like she was going to be giving me his number, and he lived in fucking Indiana or something. At one point, I actually had my phone out and was ready to call my mother, but I thought better of that plan. I mean, she was a social worker, she wasn't a therapist. I even had a fleeting thought of calling my father and having him send some specialist over here, and I would have for her, if I thought she would have talked to them anymore than she wasn't to me.

I sat there for two fucking hours, watching her smoke cigarette after cigarette in a chain like she was trying to win a contest for lung cancer, and she never said one word to me. The shaking hadn't stopped and I finally handed her the blanket from the chair because I didn't think dressing would go well. She hadn't really covered up with it, so she either wasn't cold, or didn't care, but she also didn't cover herself up, she just sort of draped it over her lap and legs, and I wasn't sure that was good or bad. I had arguments for both. On one hand, it was good she wasn't scrambling to cover up while shirking away from me. It meant she wasn't afraid of me seeing her, and she couldn't have been physically hurt. On the other hand, she was a fucking stripper, and used to people seeing her naked, so I could be Tyler or I could be the construction worker that came in on Tuesdays, it wouldn't have made her cover up any more or less.

I found myself really tired after those two hours. Not a normal tired, but like a weary tired, but I also refused to go to sleep, afraid something else would happen or she'd fly off the handle and hurt herself or something. I just had no fucking clue what the hell she was even capable of. She was really capable of silence. That was all. The tears had stopped fairly quickly, now it sort of just seemed like there was a shell of what used to be Allison with me. A shell that was nearly out of cigarettes. Then what would happen? Should I get more cigarettes? Thank God I had nearly a full pack.

I yawned and realized I was really dry, and I was going to uselessly ask her if she wanted something to drink when it also occurred to me that I said all of that out loud. And when I glanced at her, she was looking at me.

I blinked, waiting for her to turn away, but her eyes stayed fixed like she was trying to read me as hard as I'd been trying to read her.

I sighed softly. "I dunno what to do." I wasn't expecting an answer, so I wasn't surprised when I didn't get one. I brought my gaze back up to level with hers. "Do you want me to leave?" I didn't let my eyes waver; just kept them locked on hers, but still got nothing. "I can't leave until I know you're ok."

Typically, I got no answer, so we just sat there again, in silence.

Hours probably passed again; I have no idea how much time. There was really only one way this was gonna end. I'd just resigned myself to that after the first few hours.

The front door opened and closed, and I closed my eyes for a second because this…was not going to go well. I knew I had to, but it wasn't high on my list of things I wanted to do. But this was beyond my control, and she was the only other person I could trust who might know what to do. If she didn't, then I think we were totally fucked.

I walked out of the bedroom and waited in the hallway, stuffing my hands in my pockets and trying to look as harmless as possible.

I waited until she turned to go to her room. "Hey, Jordan?" I was surprised by how quiet and how shaky my voice was.

She made a noise, her shoulders slumping. "Ugh, Jesus. It's way too fucking early, and I'm too tired to start shit with you right now, ok? So just fuck off, all right?"

I cleared my throat. "Uh, I can't do that."

She slowly swiveled her head until she was looking at me. "Why the fuck not? Can't you torture someone else for a while? Take me off the list."

I shook my head. "I'm not trying to fight with you. I need your help."

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, her bag still on her shoulder. "With what?"

I swallowed thickly, nodding my head in the direction of Allison's room. I had no idea what the fuck to say. "With Allison," seemed as good as anything.

She stared me down for all of a few seconds and then dropped her bag and pushed past me, her shoulder knocking into mine deliberately as she rounded into Allison's room. She stopped in the doorway and then her head swiveled again, back to me. I didn't think I wanted to be on Jordan's bad side if that look was any indication. If the look didn't seal things, her very deliberate, very careful, words all laden with threat and promise, did. "Get. The. Fuck. Out. _Now_."

I nodded once tiredly. I expected as much; it wasn't like Jordan was going to wait for an explanation. I didn't even know what I would explain. _Yeah, Jordan, weirdest thing—we were totally 69-ing it before she freaked—no fuckin' clue _wouldn't have sufficed. God, I felt like such a prick, though. Worse. I didn't want to just walk out and not even know what had happened. But Jordan wasn't going to allow me to stay. That was very clear.

I stuck my head in the door anyway, determining it was worth the risk of it getting cut off. "Uhm, I'll call, if that's ok?"

Jordan was already sitting next to Allison on the bed, so I knew she'd probably allow contact if she wasn't shrinking away from her. That was good. Progress. Better than what she'd accept from me at the moment.

Jordan cut her eyes to me. "Just leave, Tyler."

Sighing, I turned to leave, the walk out about the longest minutes of my life since leaving Michael's apartment that day. I tried so hard not to fuck this up.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	22. Chapter 22

Thanks to everyone that reviewed! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.

* * *

**Huge, obligatory A/N:** This chapter contains material that is quite graphic, and it may be unsettling or upsetting to some readers. So I'm warning in advance that it's not pretty, and should you continue to read, you will encounter unpleasantness. Should you wish to skip that part, it's literally the largest block of text towards the beginning of the chapter, so that should give a little bit of a guideline.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**APOV**

I hadn't wanted to get high this badly in a long time. Because that was easier. It was so much harder to be sober and deal with life. And at times like this, it was a constant kind of war inside. I knew addiction was bad. Drugs were bad; all that bullshit. But I never did it because it was bad or because it was unhealthy. I did it because I was in unhealthy places and wanted to get out. And if I couldn't get out physically, then at least I could get out mentally. Problem was this wasn't an unhealthy place. So it was even harder to try to talk myself into drugs when I was already in a good place. Fucking logic. Fucking Jordan. This was all her fault really. If she would have just left me in the hole I was in, none of this would have happened. I could have stayed completely fucking unaware of the happiness that could come out of things. I wouldn't have known what happiness was to begin with. Happiness would have been the line I was gonna do in an hour, or the shit I was gonna smoke later.

Maybe all those drugs had made my already fucked up mind really, truly all haywire and disconnected. There was really no other explanation.

You ever have one of those moments where you sort of zone out and then when you realize you were zoning out, you can't remember what made you zone out in the first place? Or you wake up from the zoned out place and have trouble figuring out where you are?

I had neither at the moment. I knew exactly where I was. And I knew exactly what had happened. I didn't know how long I'd been zoning out for, but in a way, that's sort of like its own drug. Zoning out isn't a place where things move through your head; you don't have to think, it's just nothingness. Like a huge black hole just sucks you in and you can stay there and be safe and not have to think about how fucked up you really are.

I did miss the part where Jordan was dressing me like I was a fucking little kid. But when I realized, I started slapping her hands away.

"Well it's about fucking time."

I glanced at her cautiously; she'd been pissed at me the day before, so I must have been pretty far zoned if she was being nice to me. What she said had been normal Jordan-harsh, but the way she was looking at me—she was worried. It also dawned to me suddenly that _Jordan_ was dressing me. "Where's Tyler?"

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Are you fucking kidding me? That's the first thing you ask? Not anything about, wow, the last, like, however many hours or so have passed by without me noticing. Or I seem to be naked and Jordan is getting me dressed because you've been fucking catatonic? You ask where Tyler is?" She paused, shaking her head and glaring at me. "I fucking threw him out, that's where he is."

My brow furrowed. "Why would you throw him out?"

She breathed deeply, closing her eyes and running a hand over her face. "Because he did something to you to make you like this, Allison." She shook her head again. "I told you he was fucking trouble."

Wait. What? "No." I shook my head, "No, it was me."

"Oh, please!"

"No." I shook my head again. "Really. Jordan, this was all me."

"Bullshit."

"When did he leave?"

She let me know how much she hated this start of the conversation by the noise she made before she answered. "I dunno, a while ago."

I couldn't remember him leaving. That probably wasn't good. In fact, I couldn't remember anything after… after he tried… fuck. I got up off the bed, surprised at how stiff I was and started looking for my phone.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

I looked at her strangely. "Looking for my phone?"

"The fuck for?"

"To call him?"

Jordan threw her arms up. "Oh my God. You're half-dressed and you look like shit. You're not calling him until I know what happened."

I wasn't really processing her questions and shit. I just knew I needed to talk to Tyler.

She finally stopped my searching and forced me to sit back on the bed.

"Stop."

I tried to focus on her.

The worry was back.

She waited until she knew she had my attention. "I want you to listen to me, ok?"

I knew this voice. This was the _I just pulled you from really bad shit _voice. The _I need to keep calm so you don't freak again_ voice. It hadn't changed since Vegas; I just hadn't heard it since then. Not since that last night.

I nodded slowly.

"First, we're going to get you dressed. Ok? Then, I'm gonna make breakfast and you're going to tell me what happened."

"But, Tyler—"

"Tyler can wait. Tyler will wait. Right?"

She was expecting an answer. I really didn't know, honestly. I couldn't remember anything after he'd pulled out. Who the fuck knew what I'd said? Or did? Oh, Jesus Christ, I could have said anything! I could have told him all about Vegas; the real Vegas, the shit that happened in back rooms and fancy hotel suites. What if I'd suddenly had a flashback or something and completely fallen apart? What the fuck would be thinking? Oh God, I shouldn't call him. Not until I figured out what the hell happened, how I could explain.

"Allison."

I jerked back to Jordan, her fingers snapping in front of me. "Yeah."

"You're shaking. Are you remembering?"

I shook my head. "I can't call Tyler."

"Ok." She nodded. "That's ok."

I nodded. I needed to sit. Except I already was. I folded into myself, hands over my face. And I dunno. Then I was crying. Like, hysterically. I don't even remember starting. And I was lying down and Jordan was lying with me.

"It's ok. You'll get through it. It's gonna be ok."

That wasn't reassuring. I appreciated that she wasn't pushing for details but then she never really pushed for those. She just knew shit was bad and she could imagine the rest that went down. Except this time it wasn't like that at all, and I couldn't even explain. I wanted to tell her that he hadn't done anything wrong. And I couldn't seem to stop crying long enough get it out. Why did it have to be this way? Why did _I_ have to be this way? What if he never came back?

"Allison. Breathe. You're going to hyperventilate…"

"Why?" Was the only thing I got out.

She shook her head against the pillow, her hand moving hair out of my face. "I dunno, honey. Because men are assholes."

I shook my head wildly. "It wasn't Tyler. Why me?"

Her brow furrowed. "Why you what?"

I couldn't get out what I wanted. It felt like there was no air, like there wasn't any left in the room, and it kind of felt like it was spinning. And sweet, blissful darkness was narrowing in like it was tunnel that was closing. Wanting the tunnel to close probably wasn't healthy, but I'd take what I could get when I couldn't drown it in addictions, and I welcomed the darkness. This darkness was safe.

~ooOoo~

I think I preferred skanky, dirty hotel rooms where the sheets were never clean and rooms could be rented by the hour instead of the night. At least you knew what to expect.

This room was nicer than anyplace I'd ever lived. The walls and carpet were a tan color that I'd never again erase from my memory. The art on the wall was not something you could get lost in.

Lights low, flat screen above the mini bar in the cabinet across the room playing some Tom Cruise movie. Curtains pulled to shut out the rest of the decent world from what was going to happen here.

I sprawled out over the bed; huge and so comfortable. Four feathery pillows to rest against. The sheets were such a pure shade of white that it was almost uncomfortable to look at them. They were too nice, too pristine. They wouldn't be by the end of the night.

Damon strolled over to the mini bar and poured himself a drink. Vodka, neat. A brand that I'd never heard of, so it was probably as expensive as this room. It was too bad really, this place was amazing. It would have been fun to check out the games. I'd probably never set foot in this hotel again. Or if I did, it'd be for the same thing. Funny how the MGM Grand turned a blind eye to Damon and his business. They were probably getting a cut. Probably more than I was.

"So who's the client?" He liked the term _client _better than any other. He though it sounded more professional. As if he was one.

He took a long pull from the glass and eyed me on the bed. His eyes were always hooded like this just before. Lust. But it didn't matter. He wasn't the one fucking me today. He wouldn't after either. Maybe tomorrow. Depended on his mood and how well we did tonight. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I wanted to talk to you about that. Little change of plans."

Ugh. I sighed. "What kind of change?"

"Just a few friends."

"Friends?"

"Yeah."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"S'no different than any other night. Just a few extra."

I sat up, shaking my head. "No, Damon."

He leveled his gaze on me. "No?"

I didn't answer.

He nodded. "Right." He set the glass down on the bar and moved over to the bed, sitting next to me. "Listen, they've paid good money for this. And I'll be here to make sure everything stays on track."

I shook my head.

Nice with him had a way of flipping quickly. "Hey, you're welcome to leave. I can always get some other bitch to do this. Hell, there's probably a bunch right in the lobby. I wouldn't have to go far. So you're gonna do this…" He shrugged. "Or you're done."

I stared at him uselessly; it didn't really matter. 'No' was never really an option.

He flipped again. "Hey, I'll make it worth your while, ok? I'll throw in a little extra for your cut." He moved a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "And we'll do breakfast in the morning before we head out." His finger traced over my cheek. "And if you promise you'll be a good girl, I've got enough Special K to last you all night."

This is why there was never an option to say no. And exactly why he did this. Because he knew he had me. And all things considered, he treated me better than most had it. I took a deep breath. "Yeah, ok."

He pressed a kiss into the side of my forehead. "Good girl. I'll get you a drink and we can do a line…"

I still get goosebumps when I hear Jack Nicholson's voice. The reason I loved Ketamine was the way it made everything feel like a dream. I could float above everything and by the time it had warn off, it was over. Memory loss was common. And that was usually better.

Everything else was in flashes. Dim lighting. Soft sheets. Too soft. Blurred faces. Expensive suits. Stained sheets. Rough fingers in my pussy. Hands grabbing my tits. Sudden fullness as the first cock pushed inside. My grunt being cut off by the first in my mouth. The burst of saltiness. Hands changing their hold. _Take it_. Gagging from too much cock, too far down my throat. Can't relax enough to take them in. No reprieve in between. Jerking cocks of guys I can't even see. Faceless. Just cocks and nothing else. Sounds of guys coming, grunting. _Yeah, you know you want it, baby._ Skin slapping. Fronts of thighs slapping into the backs of mine. Legs over shoulders. Legs spread wide. Legs in a V. Legs bent back. Legs to the side. Incredible soreness. Bruises and hickeys. Rough fingers. Fighting for places in line. Small dicks. Careless dicks. Thick, stubby dicks. All using me. _Great cunt_. Damon floating in and out, making sure all of his customers were happy. Sticky come. Too many cocks. Endless line of waiting dicks. Waiting their turn. Trying to be somewhere else. Too high to care. _Suck that cock._ Come splashing over my chest. Always a hard dick waiting. Wanting to be jerked, sucked, squeezed. Too many to please. Not enough drugs. Too loud. Like it was a party. Cheers and yelling. Bitter taste. _Some kinda mouth on this one._ On my back, sweat pouring from too many guys to count. Losing count. Losing myself. On all fours, balls slapping into my pussy. _You want my cock all up in you, don'tcha?_ Too enthusiastic. Too hard. Finger marks on my hips. Holding my tits while plunging away. On my side. Held up in the air. More like a doll than anything else. _Position her here. Put her there. I want her sitting on my cock. Bounce on me_. Only one mouth and too many cocks wanting to be sucked. Pussy raw and sore and hot. Tits and nipples over-stimulated. Hair a complete nest of knots. Pulled hair. Legs screaming from too many positions. Pinched nipples. Laughter. Dull ache in the pit of my stomach and abs. Carpet burn on knees. Bite marks. Always a cock in my mouth and one in my pussy. Endless. Not coming once. _You can't handle the truth! _Not so much fighting as giving up.

_Allison!_

I woke covered in sweat, shaking again. Jordan pulled me until she was cradling me, and all I could think was how much I would have rather had Tyler's arms than hers. And this wave of hopelessness hit because I might never have them again.

~ooOoo~

I slept again after that, dreamlessly this time, thankfully. When I woke up, Jordan was flipping through a magazine next to me.

"Hey," she said quietly.

My voice was complete shit. Too much crying and emotion. "Hey." She handed me a bottle of water. "Thanks." I downed half of it in one go.

The magazine lay open on her lap now, ignored. "How're you doing?"

I shifted to sit next to her. "Ok."

"Haven't had a nightmare like that in a while."

I shook my head. "Nope."

"You hungry?"

I shook my head. "Not right now. Don't feel like eating."

She sighed. "You should eat something."

"I don't want to fucking eat, Jordan. Ok?"

Her eyebrows rose and her mouth set in a line. Another page of the magazine flipped.

I sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just…" My hand flailed uselessly.

"Tell me what happened."

Fuck it. Might as well just get it over with all at once. There was really no reason to string it along for the rest of the fucking day. I let out a deep breath loudly. I brought my hands up and let them slap down on the comforter. "I'm a freak. That's basically the problem."

She tossed the magazine on the floor, shifting so her body was angled towards mine. "Why are you a freak?"

"Because!" I said that way too loudly, too angrily. I pulled myself back. "Because, Jordan, I finally meet this really great guy and I can't be normal."

"What's normal?"

"Having sex with Tyler is normal."

"I thought you were gonna wait."

"We were."

"So…what happened to waiting? Did he push or something?"

"No," I said quickly. "He never pushes. He never pushes anything. He totally lets me set the pace. Anything I want to do is fine. Anything I don't want to do, we don't do. It just kinda happened."

"So…you…did have sex with Tyler then?"

"No!"

She let out a breath. "I'm confused."

I dropped my head into my hands. "This shouldn't be that complicated. I was a fucking whore. All I did was have sex. Having sex with Tyler should be just as easy."

She chuckled. "You know that's bullshit as much as I do."

"I don't want it to be bullshit. Why do I have to make it so hard? What's wrong with me?"

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Allison, just tell me what happened."

"We just got caught up in everything. I started blowing him and I was actually gonna bust out some dirtier moves just to see what he'd do, and he stopped me and was all…" I struggled for words, "_him _and shit, and wanting it to be about me, too, because he's amazing like that. So we were both getting off, and he's always so…gentle. And tender. And really sweet, and like, stopped me from making it all about him…" I paused, thinking. "I mean, Christ…he was being so nice and I still freaked… What if this is just how I'm going to be forever? What if I can never just get over being a hooker? What if I'm really nothing but a whore? I can't do anything normal! And I keep lying to him. I've never told him the truth and he still sticks around, and I still fuck it up because I can't even be normal for him! God, I hate this! He deserves someone normal. Someone who doesn't completely freak out when we're not even having sex yet, and zone out after she makes him pull out. I'm never going to be normal! It'll probably be better if he just doesn't come back. God, I wouldn't come back. If it was me, if I were him, I'd cut my losses with the crazy chick and move on."

"Allison."

"I'm serious!"

"That's why it's hard—because it's not something you know."

"But it's great! It's wonderful. It's amazing."

"You're not used to great and wonderful and amazing."

"That's completely insane! I'm insane! What's wrong with me? Why can't I control it?"

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"Yes, there is obviously something wrong with me, or I'd be fucking Tyler again right now!"

"Well–"

"What if he never comes back, Jordan? What if he realizes that I'm not worth all this waiting and patience and everything?"

I could tell there was a comment forming. Something sarcastic and probably pointing out that half a minute ago I'd said it would better if he didn't come back. But she was nicer. She took a breath. "I think if he's stuck around this long, putting up with not only you, but me when I give him shit, that he's probably not going to go anywhere."

"I'm such a freak." I covered my face with my hands again. "How am I ever going to explain this to him?"

"I'd probably leave out the gangbang."

I cut my eyes to her, glaring.

She put up her hands. "Just trying to bring some humor into the situation."

I sighed, frustrated. "That's not even why though. I don't even know why. I mean the nightmare was just because I was all fucked up anyway, but that's not why I made him stop. I don't even know why I made him stop."

"You weren't ready."

"What the fuck does that even mean? I was a whore! Who's not ready for sex? Even if you aren't a whore?"

She shrugged. "I don't know that you need an answer. You just knew it wasn't the right time. You knew that you weren't ready."

"That's not helpful."

"Well, maybe it's because he's different you really want to wait or something. I dunno, Allison."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean because you haven't had a decent guy, like, ever, when it happens for you and Tyler, you want it to be at the right time."

"But why was tonight not the right time? How do I even know when the fuck the right time is? What the hell is the right time?"

She shrugged. "Maybe when you're not so caught up? I dunno."

I thought about that for a minute. "So, like, we have to plan to have sex?"

She chuckled. "I dunno. I'm just saying. Maybe for you, you need it to be different from just being caught up."

I didn't say anything back to her because I had no fucking idea what that really meant. Planning sex seemed like more pressure—like knowing when it would happen or setting a date or something would make it that much _more_ difficult. Because you'd know it was coming. How could anyone really plan on having sex for the first, technically second time, and not have that become this huge _thing_? It would probably make it worse, or I'd be thinking about that constantly when we were doing other shit. But how the fuck would I know I was ready? And how could I ask him to just set everything aside and wait for me?

"Hey, there's something else I wanna say to you," Jordan said after we were both silent a while.

I turned to look at her, cautious, because sentences that started like that didn't always end well.

"I need to apologize."

Not what I thought was gonna come flying out. "What? Why?"

"I've been a real bitch lately. And I haven't been supportive at all. And if I was being the kind of friend you need, maybe this wouldn't have happened because you could have talked to me before."

I shook my head. "No, I need you to be the voice of reason when I don't have any. But I think you're wrong about Tyler."

Her head moved back and forth a few times, considering. "I think I've misread things. I dunno about him yet, but I don't think he's what I thought he was."

"What did you think he was?"

She smirked. "Basically a different version of Damon. A pimp of a different kind. He wasn't selling you out or anything, but, I dunno, it just seemed like he was influencing a lot of things. I thought you might have been falling back into old patterns. That you'd do what he wanted because he wanted it, and because you liked having him around. Or you liked the idea of having him around because he seemed different."

"He's nothing like Damon. At all."

"I know."

"And he doesn't influence me unless I want it or I already agree."

She nodded. "I can see that now."

"I do appreciate that you care that much."

She chuckled. "Well someone's gotta look after you." She sighed. "I think you're probably right that I was a little jealous, too. And mad that things around here were changing to accommodate him. And if he was really a nice guy, then I didn't know where that left me. I'm supposed to be the one with the answers, someone you go to when you wanna know shit. And if you're figuring things out before me, well… yeah. So that made me angry. And I'm sorry I took it out on both of you."

Wow. The last few days were just filled with blindsiding emotions. "Thank you. And thanks for helping me out today."

"No problem. Tyler looked a little out of his element. He doesn't have the experience I do."

"What do you mean?"

"He came and got me this morning when I got in from work. Because he didn't know what to do for you."

"God, that makes me feel even worse."

"I can tell he cares about you. That's clear." She paused. "He looked pretty lost."

I sighed. "This is so fucked up."

"It'll be ok."

"I don't even know where to start. Part of me just wants to tell him everything, but…every time I want to or even if I want to start, I just can't. I can't get it out. I keep thinking that'll be the thing that makes him leave. That'll be the final thing he can't take. And now this—I don't know how to tell him."

"Well take some time to figure it out. I'm gonna make us something to eat. You should check your phone, though. It's been ringing. It's on the floor somewhere."

"Fuck."

"What?" she poked her head back in the door.

"I have to work tonight. I really don't wanna go."

"You're not working tonight."

I jerked my head in her direction. "What?"

"I called and talked to Anatoly instead of Yev. You can call when you wanna go back. He said there won't be any problems."

"What did you tell him?"

"Just that you had some shit you needed to sort out and you couldn't do it while stripping." She shrugged. "You know Anatoly; he didn't ask any questions. He just said take all the time you need. The job isn't going anywhere."

Well that was a relief. I'd never had that either; people that held your job if you were having a rough time. I found my phone under a pile of clothes and listened to the first message.

_Hey… I just… I just want to make sure you're ok. I know Jordan's with you and everything, but… just call me or text me or something so I know you're ok…_

God, I couldn't listen to the second one. Or the third one. Jesus, how many messages did he leave? I sat down on the bed again and tossed the phone aside. I didn't know what to say to him. And I couldn't make myself pick up the phone no matter how much I wanted to reassure him.

~ooOoo~

I managed the art of avoidance for an entire week until I cracked. I kept myself busy with making sure I showered, dressed, brushed my teeth, did laundry, made meals, cleaned my room and the rest of the apartment… three times, and hung out with Jordan, which probably made things more bearable than they would have been otherwise. I went back to work a couple days after, and realized what a horrible idea that was when I was trying to get changed to go on stage. Jordan wound up taking me to Anatoly and asking if I could just work the tables for a few nights.

He agreed without any questions, and I suspected had some pact with Jordan already to keep me as close to them as possible, because he had me help him behind the bar just as much as I was out waiting tables. The problem was everything made me think of him; even the fucking strip club where he'd barreled in and forced me off the stage when I barely knew him.

Everything in the apartment made me think of him, too. And they were all good things. The flowers that we tried to preserve that failed miserably, only one had turned out, but I kept them anyway. Reading was no use because all I could think about was _Jonathan Livingston Seagull_ and how we hadn't gotten any father in it, and it was useless for me to even pick it up. Even stupid things, things that weren't directly related to him, became so: the kitchen table, where I ate shittons of meals before he ever came into my life, now just seemed incredibly quiet and sad and not full enough if he wasn't grunting through the meal. The pie that was only half eaten. The couch where we made out frequently or where he just sat with me and cuddled and watched bad TV. Even the laundry wound up being miserable, because I stole his shirt and it wound up in the pile to wash. I took it out, not ready for it to lose the scent of him, which made me cry for a half hour, because that was the scent that I came to associate with every day. The shower was useless even though I kept forcing myself in there every morning. Even my room, which should have been a safe haven, was just not. Because while the last memory on the bed might not have been as pleasant, everything before that had been. And even the memory of that night—the last part seemed like such a small section of the whole evening. It was just one little fluke in an otherwise amazing night as usual with him. And it hurt to be in my own room. It hurt to think about how happy I was with him. How happy he made me. How much of a difference in my life that was. All the little things. I missed holding his hand, and watching him smile, and the way his hair felt under my fingers, and the feeling of his arms, the gentle way he touched my face, the feeling of his scruffy cheek as it nuzzled all over my body, the way his head would tip to rest against mine when I hugged him. I missed his voice. I missed us.

How could I call and risk losing that? What if he was really pissed off or something? What if he was just done? Why hadn't he come over? I mean, he called at least once a day. Towards the end of the week, he stopped leaving messages and that scared me more than anything else, because eventually he'd stop calling altogether, and then I wouldn't even have the connection of _One Missed Call—Tyler _anymore. I didn't blame him at all, I'm sure my lack of answering was stressing him out, and I couldn't even imagine what he must have thought of me by then. Shit, of course he wasn't coming over. He hadn't cut me off at all—he was trying to keep contact open and it was on me to make sure they stayed that way. Of course, if I just sat here in the fucking apartment stressing about losing it, it would be gone. The only way I could fix this was to call him. Or go to his apartment. Yeah, that was better. In person was better. Now I just had to figure out how the fuck I was going to get up the courage to do that. And how did I do that after a week of ignoring his calls?

I spent several hours debating with myself, trying to think of what he might say or what I could say when I got there. I finally got tired of arguing with myself, and just forced myself out the door. It didn't matter. I didn't want to put it off anymore. Whatever happened when I saw him, I'd have to deal with it.

I took a deep breath and stood in Jordan's doorway when I announced. "Hey, I'm gonna go over to Tyler's."

She looked at the clock. "Now?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He'll be up. I just have to go. Now. Before I lose my nerve."

She nodded. "Ok. Be careful. Call if you need me."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Allison?"

I poked my head back in. "Yeah?"

"Good luck."

"Thanks," I said, ducking my head and heading for the door before I chickened out and scrapped the whole idea.

I had no plan the entire way there. Nothing was going through my head except that I needed to keep going. I had no idea what I was going to say when I was standing in front of his building. I wondered if I should have called first. For all I knew, he could have had someone else over already. I sighed and began climbing the stairs, my legs feeling heavy and my heart racing until I could hear the pounding in my ears. There shouldn't have been this much nervousness. It was just Tyler. I kept telling myself that all the way up the stairs. I knocked before I had a chance to run. 

* * *

Potentially superfluous additional note: One of our biggest frustrations with WttR the movie is that we felt like it traded on the trope of 'teenage prostitute' without in any way exploring *what* that meant and what it would look like for a 16-year-old girl to be having sex with strange men to make rent and the awful, dangerous situations in which she'd likely find herself. Even the episode in the hotel room, which is sort of glossed as attempted rape, becomes more about her connection to Doug and his reaction, and he talks to her about bank accounts when she needs a lot more than someone teaching her how to make a bed. That moment always felt cheap because it was like, we need this really bad thing to happen to Allison to push her closer to Doug but we don't want to take the time away from his story to explore what that might really be or its impact on *her*. So we sort of wanted to rectify that here because when you trade sex for money, really bad shit happens more often than not.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	23. Chapter 23

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

**TPOV**

For a guy that prided himself on being patient for his girl, and being understanding when it came to her sexual hang-ups, I was really shitty at it. I had a real knack for fucking up sex with her. Sex in the alley notwithstanding, I apparently hadn't learned anything from that, and was just as fucking impulsive and careless now. I couldn't even fathom afterwards what I was thinking that night. I never should have let it get that far out of control. I never should have let _myself _get that far out of control. I should have asked more questions. I should have stopped to get a condom. I was such a fucking moron. There was a sure-fire way to make your partner comfortable, and I fucked that up at every possible point I could have.

That sad part was I had no excuse. I promised her at the start that I wouldn't do anything she wasn't comfortable with. And even though I know I asked, I couldn't even remember if I waited for her answer before I started pushing inside. I just let my dick do the thinking because I wanted to feel her so badly. And the same argument that I had with myself after the alley kept playing in my mind—the difference between the words _want _and _let,_ and I swore I would never have _let_ be the situational decider again. Except I did.

I must have called her six times just the first day after it happened. I needed to know she was ok, even if everything was over. I couldn't function without knowing if she was ok. I didn't sleep at all that day, or that night. I wound up pulling close to a 72-hour stretch because I had work the next day and collapsed from nothing but exhaustion after work. Aidan was badgering me for information, and for the reason I was suddenly always at the apartment and sleeping in my own bed when I'd barely been at the apartment for weeks before that. He kept trying to keep things light, but somewhere around the fourth or fifth day, he must have realized the gravity of the situation and actually asked me what the fuck had happened and why I wasn't over at her apartment every night.

How could I even explain it when I didn't understand it myself? I mean, I knew her reaction; I just had no idea what I did to provoke it. And that lacking piece of information was the only thing keeping me from camping outside her door or stalking the strip club again. I must have started the walk to her apartment more than a dozen times, but I always forced myself back because I kept thinking the truth could be the only possible thing worse than not knowing.

I was constantly distracted; going over and over and over the whole night, from the minute I got to her apartment to when she freaked out. I couldn't pin down one thing that stuck out in my mind as something that I did wrong, other than not taking enough time to make sure she was cool with what we were doing.

I was such a monumental fuck up. And that was really all I was ever gonna be; that was quite obvious. I couldn't imagine what she must have thought of me. But as she wasn't returning any of the numerous calls and messages I left, I had to assume the worst. And it was killing me.

It probably wouldn't have been as bad if she reacted differently. If she simply told me no and we stopped; things would have been awkward for a while but we could have talked about it, got it sorted out then, and made a plan for moving forward. Now I had nothing to go on. I had nothing to go back to. And the fact that she'd been so…still; it really worried me. What if the reason she wasn't returning my calls was because she was still fucking catatonic or something? It wasn't like Jordan was going to call to let me know. What made someone just flip that switch and go all catatonic? What happened in her mind for her to slip that far away from me, where I doubted she really noticed my presence at all?

Because I lacked the experience to understand it, I found myself looking shit up again. And I didn't know if I'd even call it that after I read shit. Catatonia was manifested by stupor; motionless apathetic states where the subject is oblivious to external stimuli. In a lot of ways she seemed to fit that bill, but she hadn't been emotionless, and she certainly hadn't been completely motionless either. She cried, so I didn't know what the fuck to classify it as; I just knew I had no idea how the fuck to deal with it no matter what the term for it was.

I felt helpless. I hated that feeling. It was the same feeling I had when Michael killed himself; like there was nothing that I could have done that would have changed anything. Or was there? That was the fucking worst part.

So I started wondering if some traumatic event from her past had happened similarly; or if she was really just that sexually… I didn't even know what to call it. She wasn't unresponsive ever; it was just this one act that seemed to trigger shit.

I basically drove myself nuts 24/7; analyzing and reanalyzing, and thinking of how I could have changed things. How I could have gotten her to talk to me after. How I could have forced talking gently without sending her psyche into some sort of defensive breakdown tailspin. When I exhausted myself with options and scenarios and analyses, then I just wallowed in depression as I left messages day after day that just went unacknowledged. Because if it wasn't something I did, she surely would have talked to me by now. As the week stretched on—literally the longest goddamn days of my life—I stopped leaving messages. The longer it went on, the more hopeless it seemed. I didn't know how to just pick up my life again without her in it. It seemed largely inconceivable to do so. I wasn't even sure I knew how to anymore. And the more important thing was that I didn't want to. I'd been sick of the one-night stand cycle and all the random faceless people you met. That was why I liked her to begin with. She had a face; she had a personality. She was different.

I would become a recluse. That was my backup plan. That was more preferable; just stay away from people altogether. Probably smarter, too.

By the end of the week, I started bargaining with myself. That if she didn't call back or answer this time, tonight, by tomorrow, by the next day, three days, seven days, then I'd give up. It was pointless; I just kept pushing the day farther ahead and calling once a day anyway. It sort of became part of my routine. Force myself out of bed and get ready for work. Force myself not to stay in bed wallowing all day if I didn't have to work. Eat. Pick up Caroline and try to be some semblance of normal. Try not to seem like the only brother she had left's life wasn't falling apart around him. Read and reread and finally throw the book across the room. Try not to be a completely irritable bastard at work. Try not to punch annoying people. Try not to get arrested. Call Allison. Wait for the entirely too many rings to complete before her message kicked in and then hang up. Put the phone down gently instead of taking out frustration on it. Let Aidan get me drunk repeatedly. Throw up in the bathroom. Try not to think about how much better my life was with her in it. Try not to throw everything angrily. Wish she'd pick up the phone and just not say anything. Anything. Try to come to terms with the possibility of it being over. Fail miserably.

The longer it went on, the more desperate I felt. I didn't even care anymore if I was wrong and she was mad, or if this was all over. I just needed to know she was ok. I never wanted to disappoint her, and never intended to hurt her, and I came to this realization that no matter how hard I wanted to try, maybe I wasn't what she needed, and she'd be better off with someone else. Maybe her not calling was her way of telling me that. Not patient enough. Not gentle enough. Not right enough. Not understanding enough. Not apparent enough. Not careful enough.

Then I felt really fucking stupid because what had made me think I could be what she needed anyway? I had nothing to offer her. I didn't have a career path or some grand life plan. I had father issues several miles long, a mother that I thought was too fragile to handle any of my bullshit, a guilt I'd never lose because of a brother I couldn't save, and a sister that I'd probably fuck up just as badly as I'd fucked her up. What was there for her to come running back to?

It was another really shitty day in a string of really shitty days. Patience was gone several minutes after I got out of bed. I was hunting for a flannel shirt, and I knew I'd seen it relatively recently. It suddenly dawned on me that I left it at her place, and had to take several deep breaths before I put my fist through the wall.

Then someone knocked on the fucking door. And I was not in the mood for visitors.

Fucking A. No one ever knocked on our door unless we ordered pizza or something, and anyone that wanted in, didn't even technically have to knock. It was just politeness if you knocked on our door and then waited for us to get there while the door opened on its own.

Of course lazyass-Aidan hadn't gone to answer it. "Don't get the door or anything, fucktard."

He flipped me off on my way past. If he wouldn't have been basically the only one still talking to me, I might have said more. He offered getting shitfaced in the apartment tonight; which was quite a large concession on his part as he thoroughly enjoyed the going out part of alcohol, so I couldn't be too irritable with him. And I didn't work tomorrow, so there was no reason not to wallow in alcohol tonight.

"Did you order pizza?" Aidan called from the kitchen.

"No. Did you?"

"Nope." He popped the top on a bottle of beer. "Wonder who it is then? If it's a tall, lanky blonde, I'm available."

I scoffed. "Tall, lanky, blonde man, got it."

"Fuck you, Tyler."

"Back atcha, asshole."

I grabbed the excuse for a handle and pulled the door open wider. And then kind of gaped. She was standing there in a baggy, old sweatshirt and jeans, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and her leg bouncing a mile a minute. Her hands fiddled with the seam at the bottom of the sweatshirt. She still managed to look beautiful. And seeing her, the ache in my chest just compounded about a thousand times. "Hey."

Hearing her voice live, and not on that goddamn voicemail, was so fucking surreal. I missed it. Holy shit. "Hi." I stood there dumbly looking at her for a few seconds before my brain jumpstarted, and I moved out of the way. "You wanna come in?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Well? Is it a tall, lanky blonde who's just longing to suck my—Hey, Allison," Aidan said from the kitchen, giving her a wave.

"Hey, Aidan."

I looked over at him. "Hey, get lost."

He nodded once. "You bet. I was just thinking I wanted to go out." He grabbed his wallet and brushed past us. "Nice seeing you, Allison."

She smiled as he exited. "Yeah, you too."

Oh man. This was so fucking weird now. Like, we both stood there for I don't even know how long, not even looking at each other, not knowing what to say. Finally I managed, "You wanna sit?"

"Yeah, thanks." She moved over to the couch and sat on one end of it.

"You want anything? Something to drink or…" I trailed off. A shot of whiskey? A cigarette? A gun to shoot me with 'cause it'd be over with faster. Please aim for the heart or head. Make this quick.

She shook her head, a short smile while she glanced at me. "No, thanks, I'm good."

I nodded. Right then. Shit. Did I sit? Stand? Was standing, like, too domineering? Would that make her uncomfortable? Would me sitting make her _more _uncomfortable? Should I sit in the chair? Would that be rude? Would she take that the wrong way and think that _I_ didn't want to sit by _her_? Jesus fucking Christ, how did this get so complicated when it was all going so well? I finally decided that standing there like a fucking dumbass was probably not going to help anything. So I sat on the couch with her, but at the other end, giving her plenty of space if she wanted it. I tried to read her reaction, her lips set in a line, but she didn't give anything else away, so I didn't know if that was the right thing to do or not. It seemed like more than a week had gone by. Like an eternity since I'd seen her, heard her voice, seen her smile. Fuck. For all I knew, she was throwing in the towel tonight, and I still couldn't think of anything but her, and the almost innate physical need to touch her. To make sure she was real.

"Are you ok?" It slipped out before I could stop it. Like breathing. I had to know. No matter what she was here for, no matter what she was going to say; I still needed to know she was ok. That my failure had not done some irreparable damage.

She nodded, the same small smile appearing briefly. "Yeah, I'm ok."

"Good." That seemed genuine, truthful. That made me feel a miniscule amount better. "I called…" I added, leaving it open. Only two, or three, or fourteen times.

Her brow furrowed. "I know. I just needed some time to figure out what I wanted to say. And I wanted to do it in person then…" A beat passed. "You ok?"

"Yeah," I said, letting it out with a breath. But…needed time to figure out what to say? And in person? That didn't sound good. That sounded…decision-worthy. Final. It occurred to me this could go even a lot worse than I had imagined, which was already pretty bad. I wasn't ok. Not at all. Because a very large percentage of my life hung in the balance here. And she could lay something on me that I couldn't even see coming.

She nodded again. "Good."

I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to do here. Was she waiting for me to start the conversation? Because I didn't know if that was what she wanted and I really thought she needed to talk first. So I sort of just waited. Which sucked. Because we'd always been able to talk before. It was never this awkward, or at least not since the very beginning. I kind of felt like we were starting all over again. And I didn't like that feeling. I liked how communicative we were. I liked knowing what was going on in her head. But I didn't know that right now. And it sucked. Some more.

And right before she started, I realized that I'd do just about anything to make her stay. And that I quite possibly was not above begging.

She let out a deep breath, looking down at her hands. "So…I need to explain to you what happened the other night."

Yes, please. Because I was clueless beyond something happened that she couldn't handle or didn't like. I didn't say anything though.

Her eyes darted to mine. "I'm sorry."

My brow furrowed. "What are you sorry for? I'm the one that needs to apologize."

She shook her head. "No, you don't. It was just…"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't…I didn't push or anything, I don't think. I mean, I would have never… No means no. I'm not one of those guys. And I thought I asked you and you were into it. And I'm like 99% sure you said yes."

"I did, Tyler. I did. And I want to. I do want to. It's just… I'm not ready. And I guess I didn't realize that. Or I thought I was over it."

"Did I do something? Or not do something? Or did it remind you of something bad?"

"No." She shook her head quickly. "No. You didn't do anything. It wasn't you at all. It was just that you were coming at me from behind, and I couldn't see your face, and you were pulling me back and it was just… I dunno, it just triggered something for me. But it wasn't you—it was wonderful and you're gentle and so fucking attentive and I just—it makes me mad that I reacted that way. Because it couldn't have been any nicer or gentler or different from what I'm used to. And my mind still freaked out. And I hate that. I hate that it did. And that I can't control that. But it didn't remind me of anything. There's nothing else I have to compare it to, ok? Things with you are on a completely different level than the shit that's happened to me in the past. So much better."

"I didn't think we were rushing anything."

"We weren't."

"I shouldn't have let it go that far. I should have stopped after the oral. I wasn't thinking and I should have been. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I told you, I wanted to. I do want to. I just can't yet. And it's got nothing to do with you. You're always great. And you've been more patient than anyone I've ever known."

"I still think it's my fault. I should have asked more. Made sure." She was going to say something there, probably refuting that, but I kept going. "Are you sure I didn't do something? Because you didn't even want me to touch you then. And you wouldn't talk to me."

She sighed, looking away from me. "I really don't remember much of that."

"It was like you were afraid of me."

"I don't know what to tell you. I remember asking you to stop and then not really anything else. I just knew you were there. But I'm not afraid of you."

I didn't really know what to say to that. I mean, it was great she wasn't, but her not remembering that entire span of time when I was afraid she wasn't ever going to get back to normal, it made things even a little more complicated. Because she couldn't answer or talk to me about shit she didn't remember.

"You make me feel so different, ya know? And I don't know what to do with that a lot of times. I told you that before. And we just got caught up in the moment and I wasn't ready for that next step. Or like my body was more than ready and my mind wasn't."

I nodded. "Right. Yeah, I get it."

"I can't tell you when I will be ready, either. And it's really not fair of me to just string you along thinking it will happen when I can't even tell you when. Or if it ever will. So…ya know, I understand if that's something you don't want to wait forever for."

She was playing with her fingers, and I watched absently, while this ache in my chest intensified thinking about her walking out and never coming back. Never seeing her again or talking to her or holding her. I didn't want this to end. And I didn't care about how long it took. And I hadn't been trying to push us to that place, either.

"I said I'd wait. I meant that. I didn't plan for that to happen; it just kind of progressed that way. I didn't have some grand plan for sex that night. And I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere." I paused and then added quickly, softly, "And I don't want to lose you." I managed to keep eye contact all the way until the end. But I forced my head back up.

She looked extremely relieved. "I don't want to lose you either."

And that made me extremely relieved. It felt like the entire chest-full of emotion and pent up anxiety in my stomach lifted a little. I mean, I was still kinda freaking out because while we kinda hashed this out, I had no idea where we went from here. Or what the boundaries were. And it was clear, in my mind anyway, that I was never setting any again. I wasn't going to suggest or pressure or ask or proceed with anything unless she wanted it, and told me so.

On the other hand, the intense need in every way, shape, or form to touch her was completely undeniable. It felt so wrong the entire time she was here already, being in her physical proximity and not touching her in some way. Or what I wanted to do from the second she pulled away from me the other night. And it was a really good thing that no one else in the entire world would ever hear what a gigantic fucking pussy I was going to sound like when I asked her, "Can I hold you for a little while?"

She sort of sobbed out an answer with a nod and started falling towards me, and I moved closer quickly so she fell against my chest, her head buried in the crook of my neck and my chin resting on top. With my arms around her, everything that had been wrong the last week eased, and I never wanted to let her go. Thankfully, her arms wrapped around me were holding on just as tightly, and part of me wished I had tried to press this more that night, but who would have known how she would have reacted to that. I breathed in deeply, letting it settle me further, and took in the softness and scent of her shampoo on her hair, the warmth of her. "I missed you," I said quietly, nuzzling into her hair.

She pressed back with her cheek and forehead, burrowing into my chest. "I missed you, too."

"Do you have to work tonight?"

"Nope."

"Do you wanna stay here?"

She nodded against my chest. "I'd like that."

I squeezed her tighter in answer, ecstatically happy at that moment, even though I wasn't sure what it meant, nor did I want to assume anything. "I can sleep out here on the couch if… If you'd be more comfortable with that."

She backed out of my arms, and I wanted to grab her again immediately, but I held off. "Is that… Is that what you want?"

My gut reaction was a raucous _Fuck, no_, but I tried to read her eyes, tried to figure out if she was for or against the idea of sleeping in the same bed with me. It would have been weird not to sleep with her in the same apartment. "No," I said softly. "Only if you'd feel more comfortable with that."

She just watched me for a second.

"I'd rather sleep with you," I added.

She nodded. "I don't want you to sleep on the couch."

I nodded back slowly, and then got up and started walking down the hall, forcing myself not to check behind me. I didn't know what the boundaries were as I led us into the bedroom. I mean, I obviously knew that anything sexual was going to be backburner-ed for an indefinite amount of time. But was affection allowed? Could I kiss her goodnight? She let me hold her on the couch, so that level of touching was ok, but I was apprehensive about suggesting anything else. Suggesting period. I just had to try and follow her lead. My hand went through my hair as we reached the bedroom and it turned slightly awkward again. It dawned on me she would need something to wear for bed and that at least gave me something to do.

"Right, I can get you a tee shirt and some boxers to wear for bed if that's ok?"

She nodded, sort of staring at the bed like it'd bite her or something. "Yeah, that'd be fine."

I started rummaging through drawers to locate that, and I'm not sure if it was just because I wanted to make sure none of _this_ got fucked up now or not, but I found myself dismissing certain articles because they weren't _right_, and then realized how stupid that was because it was just clothes to sleep in. They really didn't require _meaning_.

I turned to hand her the clothes and there was some more awkward shifting on both of our parts because she needed to change and so did I and neither of us was sure we were supposed to just start stripping or whatever.

This level of apprehension on her part, or insecurity, or whatever it was, the look she was giving me; it _hurt_. Because a week ago we hadn't had this nervousness; there was only comfort and commonality; naturalness. It was frustratingly like being back at step one. Like she was uncomfortable with me seeing her now. And part of the problem was, too, that I didn't share those feelings. I was only uncomfortable because she was. I would have started stripping right away otherwise. There wouldn't have been any apprehension on my part because nothing had changed for me. But there was a huge, tangible _change_ for her. For whatever reason, I wasn't as comfortable for her anymore. And because of that, I couldn't just expect her to pick up where we left off.

And it was all just _off_, like we were somehow transported to this alternate timeline where we both knew each other and everything fundamentally was the same but also glaringly different. I mean, it wasn't like I expected her to start ripping clothes off and making out with me; I just… I didn't even know what the fuck anything was anymore. It was confusing. And disorienting. And unnatural.

"Why don't I brush and you can change?" I suggested, because the whole staring at each other thing was working really well at solving things.

She looked relieved. "Yeah, ok."

I nodded and turned wordlessly, trying not to let that hurt as much as it did as I shut the door gently. What occurred in the bathroom then was probably the most half-hearted attempt at brushing ever. It was probably also going to go down in the record books as the longest, because I wanted to give her time, but part of me was just reeling with the ridiculousness of all of it. It shouldn't be this way. And no matter what she said, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was my fault—like if I had just engaged my brain that night, we'd be fine and none of this would be necessary. We'd both still be happy.

I grabbed an extra toothbrush and put it out for her, wondering if there was a protocol for me going back to the room. Like, was knocking required? Did I ask if she was decent? I'd seen her naked! What was the point? Christ. I spent more time staring at the door than was necessary, thinking she probably had about as much clue as I did. She was probably just as unsure on the other side of the door. Still, opening the door unannounced seemed insensitive.

So I knocked. On my own fucking door.

She must have been thinking that was as weird as I did, because she didn't say, 'Come in,' or any of that shit. She just said, "Yeah," instead.

She smiled at me gently and I really couldn't help but smile back because the shirt was huge on her, and it looked more like a nightshirt than a tee shirt. "I left a toothbrush out for you," I said, jerking my thumb out the door.

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and ducked her head before ducking around me. "Thanks." I sighed as I riffled through my drawer before aimlessly grabbing boxers to sleep in. I didn't normally wear a shirt to bed, but I forced myself to take one out because that probably wasn't going to help with the comfort level.

I spent the next few minutes trying to figure out how we were going to sleep and if it was presumptuous to be in bed when she got back.

I mean, it was my bed. And not being in it was probably more awkward, so I finally decided that it was easier if I was in bed because then she had the choice. If she just wanted to lie there next to me or something; she could. If she wanted to be closer, she could make the decision.

She looked a little unsettled when she found me lying in bed with my hands linked under my head, but it was the only way to ensure I wouldn't touch her. If my hands would have been unoccupied, all I'd want to do was reach out—feel that she was real again—hold her.

The bed depressed on her side when she got in and we both just basically laid there staring at the ceiling silently for fuck knows how long. All I could think about was the first time she'd shared this bed and how far apart we'd been, then. And how similar that felt to now. At that time, I knew that trust took building, and I was ok with the distance. Rebuilding, no matter the circumstances, took even longer sometimes.

I sighed, louder than I anticipated, and when I felt the bed start to move, I thought she was crying at first. I turned my head and when our eyes met, it was evident she was laughing.

I smirked and chuckled and when she started to roll, I adjusted to cradle her against me and by the time her head was against my chest, everything seemed more intensely right. Maybe I didn't need to rebuild. Maybe she just needed to rediscover. The sigh I let out then was much more relieved and content, even if everything still kinda felt fucked up.

I wasn't really tired, but I stayed quiet in case she was, and I couldn't really tell if she was sleeping or not, but her breathing hadn't changed.

She actually kind of startled me when she said, "I started smoking again."

I took a second to figure out if I was supposed to respond to that or not. I brilliantly replied with,

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"Are you…happy about that?"

"No. Not really."

"I'm sorry. That's probably my fault, too. By the time I offered, I was kind of desperate for any response." I paused. "I didn't really think you were going to."

She nuzzled into me. "That's not your fault, either. It was my choice like anything else. I'm just disappointed I caved."

I didn't say anything back; just rubbed up and down her back instead.

"I forgot how much I _liked_ smoking, ya know? It's very calming."

"Yeah, it is. I don't know what I'd do with myself sometimes if I didn't smoke."

"You mean like when shit blows up in your face?"

"Yeah, like that. Or when you call fourteen times in a panic and the one person you want to talk to doesn't pick up." The minute it flew out, I wanted to take it back. One, I knew it'd make her feel bad, and I didn't want it to. Two, I realized it might make her mad and she'd leave again, and that was the last thing I wanted. Three, I had to stop fucking this up if I wanted it to work.

I actually tightened my grip on her, wanting to make sure that she'd stay or at least give me the chance to fight it this time.

She didn't move though. She was just quiet, and her finger started slowly tracing back and forth over the top hem of the pocket on my tee shirt. When she stopped, she laid her whole hand flat against my chest. "I'm sorry, Tyler."

See, now I made her feel worse. "I didn't mean that you needed to apologize." I let that hang in the air for a minute. "Can I ask you something though?"

She tensed slightly. Not anything anyone else would notice because it was a minute change, but I knew her well enough to recognize it. "Yeah," she said, some tone between resigned and wary.

I waited a minute before asking, "Can we please not do it again?"

She relaxed on a quiet sigh, and nodded against my chest. "Yeah, I don't want to do this again."

I squeezed her. "Good. So if something happens, which it never will again," I added quickly, "just…I dunno… Smack the shit outta me or something or, I dunno… We have to have some kind of system in place or something. So I know what to do. What should I have done? What could I have done differently? What did you need?"

The questions pretty much just floated there, but I didn't push her to come up with an answer. We still needed one though—I needed one. I needed to know how to deal with it if it happened again. I needed some peace of mind that I'd know what the right thing for her was.

Problem was I don't think she could come up with answer.

"I think I was embarrassed. Or maybe that came later. I'm not sure really."

That really wasn't an answer either, but I think she was trying to get to one. "You didn't seem embarrassed when it happened. I wouldn't call it that."

"What would you call it?"

"Scary."

"Because of the not talking?"

"No. Not talking I can handle. It was the way you looked at me like I was going to hurt you, and the way you shifted away from me."

"But I don't even remember doing that. And I told you I'm not afraid of you. But I can't stop the way I reacted."

"Maybe we can now. Maybe we can control it together. So you don't go all radio silent for an entire night and morning."

"How could we do that?"

"I dunno."

We were both quiet for a minute.

"Has this ever happened before?"

She sighed. "Yeah."

"What did you do then? Or who helped you?"

"I don't really remember them either. And Jordan."

"So you, like, black out?"

"No. I mean, there are parts I don't remember, but I always know where I am, I think. I dunno, Tyler, it's not exactly something I've thought about a lot. They're usually not good situations."

I knew she didn't mean it like that sounded, but I couldn't help my mind going that way.

She nuzzled me. "Shit. I'm sorry, that's notthat's not what I meant. I didn't mean that things with you weren't good."

"I know."

She was getting frustrated. "I don't even know what to tell you. It's just something that happens. And it's not a lot. It's happened maybe three times."

I couldn't even begin to think then about what the other two times were like, and I couldn't ask her about them now either. Maybe it was just time to leave it for the night.

"Let's just sleep now, ok? We'll figure it out."

She let out a deep breath, "Yeah, ok."

I couldn't really say much was resolved, or that I knew exactly where we went from here, but she was here with me, and that's kind of all that mattered to me at the moment.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	24. Chapter 24

******Thanks to everyone that reviewed! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

**APOV**

I wished I could have taken back the last week. Lying in bed with Tyler, my head on his chest, his arm warm and heavy on my back, the whole week that I spent avoiding him and stressing without him seemed really pointless and fucking stupid. It was the first time in that week that I slept the whole night without nightmares, panic attacks or insomnia. Smoking was calming, sure, but so was Tyler; and no amount of cigarettes in the world could ever add up to him or his touch.

I was really stupid. Or not even stupid, really. I didn't know what word to call it. It felt like avoiding him had been really…high school. Like we were teenagers. And I never even had that experience, so it was weird for me to feel like that. But after talking to him and everything, if I just would have been an adult and sacked up earlier, I could have saved us both a lot of pointless stress. And it was sort of weird how I always felt like an adult, and a lot of times I saw Tyler as a big kid, and then I reacted this way instead of the adult way. And he was left the responsible one.

But I realized, too, that when it came to me, he was always responsible. I never felt like he did anything with me as irresponsible; and he tried really hard all the time.

Which kind of made me feel worse.

And I didn't really know how to fix that.

I fell asleep quickly after we talked, but I woke up first. And I was happy just to stay where I was while he slept because I missed feeling this, and my bed had been incredibly empty the whole last week.

I had a while to think, too. And he asked me some really important questions before we slept. Questions that no one had ever bothered to want an answer to before. Questions he deserved an answer to.

_What should I have done? What could I have done differently? What did you need? _

All questions that weren't really about him at all. Because even the _I_ questions were related to how he could be helping _me_.

Christ. I didn't even know if I could answer those for myself. What should he have done? First I had to figure out if it was even something I could control or just more of my body and mind's fucked up way of dealing with shit. Was that even dealing? Was I shutting down? Did I know the difference? I think it was protective; that was the only thing I was sure about. I wasn't sure it was me dealing or shutting down, but I knew that I thought I was protecting myself that way. No one had ever really tried breaking through to me during one—they all just sat as still as I did, or were scared to snap me out of it or something. I didn't even know if there was a snapping out of it. Jordan just always sat with me like she was on watch; to make sure I didn't hurt myself, or just let me process or get rid of the memories. She never tried to bring me out. So I didn't know what that would mean. And what did I need? No fucking clue what that even meant. I think… I think I decided that I needed him. I think I'd come to that during the last week. I think I knew that going back to the life I had before he was in it was much emptier and colder. I never felt like I needed anyone before, but that had to be what this feeling was.

It was sort of like feeling sick, but deeper, deeper inside. Like an ache that never went away, and nothing could fill it. Like you felt hungry, but didn't feel like eating, and no food took the feeling away. Or like being scared, that pit in your gut that just sat there like an unmoving lump, and the waves of shivers that rolled through your body. I just knew it was gone when I was with him, and it disappeared the minute I knew that he was still… mine.

And if I felt like he was mine, then that had to mean that I was his, too, right? Not an owning kind of 'mine.' Not like Teddy and Damon and all the others. Mine, but I was still me, and I was still in control, but tied to him. And I didn't want to own him either. I wanted him freely.

He didn't do it every time, but some mornings when he woke up, he somehow managed to stretch and tighten his grip on me at the same time. This morning, I smiled when he did it because it was one of those little things that I missed. And as he yawned through a "Morning," for a second, I forgot the week before existed, and it was just like a normal morning. I said "Good morning" back, and then…it sort of got weird again. Because silence hadn't been weird between us before, but now it seemed like it was because one of us had something to say and couldn't say it. And I'd never been in this kind of situation before; I didn't know what I was supposed to do or say.

Limbo. That's what this kind of felt like. And I wasn't sure how we got out of it.

He cleared his throat quietly. "Hey, I need coffee. You want coffee?"

I nodded against his chest. "Yeah, coffee would be great."

He squeezed me gently and then carefully slid out of bed, the space he left behind still warm and smelled like him. And before he even left the room, I was sort of spoiling myself inhaling the scent again.

He stood by the bed for a second, his hand scratching over the back of his head. "Why don't you get dressed while I'm making the coffee?" He didn't wait for an answer, just turned and closed the door softly behind him. I just laid there for a minute, wondering what the fuck I was thinking the time I was away from him. Because that right there was typical Tyler. And he was trying incredibly hard again; a kind of trying I hadn't needed from him since we first started dating. He was trying to make this easier for me.

There was a quiet knock on the door. I hadn't even gotten out of bed. "Yeah?"

His head poked in, and I think he was surprised to see me still in bed. "Hey."

"Hi."

"Uhm…so we don't have any coffee. Which doesn't really surprise me, given who I live with."

I smiled. "That's ok."

He shook his head, most of his body still in the hallway. "No, not really. Because we don't really have anything else either. We have beer."

I realized something then. He normally suggested shit. And he wasn't. He was just telling me how things were. Which was usually my side of the relationship. "You wanna go get some instead?" I asked, sort of terrified of the level of putting myself out there that it felt like. I wondered if he felt like that every time he suggested something.

His face brightened. "Yeah. That'd be great."

I sat up, pushing the covers back and scrambled out of bed. "Good."

He ducked his head, ready to close the door again. "I'll just let you change. Why don't you just come out when you're ready?"

"Hey, Tyler? Before we go…can we talk about something?" I watched his head poke back in slowly, his eyes meeting mine. He was chewing on his bottom lip, like a nervous thing.

"Yeah, 'course." He slipped back in the room, and sat down on the bed, looking up at me. Anxious; he looked anxious. Like he was just waiting for me to slap him with the next traumatic episode of my psyche or something.

I nodded once, taking a deep breath. "So…you asked me some questions last night and I've been trying to come up with answers."

He looked more relieved but he didn't need to ask what questions I was talking about. "And did you come up with some?" he asked that quietly, like he wasn't going to push if I didn't have any.

"I think so." I nodded. I took a deep breath and let it out, meeting his eyes. "I know that I need you. And I think maybe if it happens again, you should try to pull me out."

He watched me for a few seconds before he asked, "And what if that makes it worse?"

"Then I guess that wasn't the right answer. But I don't know because no one's ever tried. Jordan just sits with me. I think if it happens, you should give that a try."

More thinking about it. I could tell because he had thinking face and his eyes were trying to read mine like there was some goddamn manual there or something. Or to make sure I wasn't lying.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said quietly.

"I know." I nodded. "I don't think it will."

He shook his head, breaking eye contact for a minute. "I don't know if that's enough reason for me—that it's enough assurance."

I shrugged. "Well, that's all I've got. You asked. That's the answer I came up with."

His hand went through his hair and he got up from the bed, pacing for a few seconds before he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms while considering. He took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. "Ok," he said, nodding. "Fair enough."

I smiled, nodding back.

He went over to the dresser and grabbed some clothes before turning back to me. "If you don't want to wear your clothes from last night, you can grab whatever you want. I'll just…" he pointed to the bathroom, disappearing to change, and leaving me to do the same.

Things were ok when we left to get coffee. Or as ok as they could be. I was really fucking happy because I had permission to wear, like, any piece of clothing of his that I wanted and I took full advantage of it. I was currently savoring, but also swimming in, an NYU sweatshirt that I found in the bottom of his drawer. I was busy rolling up the sleeves as we started to walk down the stairs.

"Hey…" He stopped two steps down and I had to stop short to make sure I didn't smack into him and send us rolling down the stairs.

My eyebrows rose in answer, but I didn't say anything as I stopped walking.

His hands went in his pockets and his eyes dropped from mine, but then they snapped back and the blueness was something I missed almost as much as the gentleness that always seemed to be with them. "Just… I need you, too."

And before I really thought about anything else, my hands were cupping his face and my lips were pressed to his, and the goosebumps that broke out on my skin whenever we kissed were there again, and it felt like breathing again after holding your breath under water too long.

He went completely still, like if he made any movement, I'd stop or it'd go away and get all fucking weird again. His hands stayed in his pockets, and I missed feeling them at my waist or curling around my back when we kissed. His lips were warm and a little chapped and once our lips were touching, I didn't want to pull back. Almost like I was afraid myself of what would happen when we stopped.

I had to make sure that didn't happen.

Literally, I don't even think he was breathing. His eyes opened really slowly and when he saw mine were already open, I think he was even more afraid that it was a fluke or I made a mistake. So I kept my hands on his face, and when I pulled back, I rested my forehead on his instead, so we were still connected.

His eyes fluttered closed again for a few seconds and his hands moved from his pockets to circle around me, and he breathed out slowly, his eyes catching mine again. "I've wanted to do that for a week, but especially since I opened the door last night and you were standing there."

I smiled. "Me, too." I pressed my lips to his again. Twice. Quickly. But twice.

I grabbed his hand as we started down the stairs again, and when I watched how happy those few simple things had made him, and how much better I felt, I had another realization. The whole suggestion thing had become much larger, and if this was any sign, he wasn't going to be initiating much of anything. I probably scared that out of him with my little episode. So I was going to have to suck it up, and do some of the work. He didn't want to make me uncomfortable, so I had to make sure he knew what _didn't_ make me feel uncomfortable so we could get back to where we were before this whole thing had fucking blown up on us. And it probably hadn't been fair of me before to expect him to come up with everything. It was time for it to be more balanced.

Coffee quickly morphed into breakfast; because we were both sure there was nothing in the apartment to eat if there was no coffee to drink.

In a sort of odd way, when we settled into our booth in the diner, it reminded me a lot of our first real date because it had that sort of weird air around it. I was determined that it wouldn't last.

So I asked about the stupidest question I possibly could have. "So how was your week?" Because, of course, that was a burning reminder of what had happened, what I was trying to avoid, and what I hadn't wanted to bring up during breakfast, so we could try to get back to normal.

His brows pulled down, and I think he was trying really hard to be nice. "Uh… it…" He blew out a breath. "It fucking sucked. How was yours?" he chuckled.

It sort of broke the ice again, though. I laughed, nodding. "Yeah, it fucking sucked." I paused and then added, "Working wasn't so bad. Anatoly was really, really nice to me. And when he knew something was up, he let me work behind the bar with him or work the tables instead of stripping. So that helped."

I didn't really know how he was going to react to that. I said it very matter-of-factly, and hadn't really considered his feelings on the stripper part.

He was smiling warmly though, like he was truly happy my week hadn't completely sucked. "I'm glad."

I nodded. "Yeah, he's a good guy."

"Anatoly, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Is he your boss, or…"

"No, he's the boss's brother. I mean, he's a boss, but he's not the number one dick, ya know?"

"Yeah, he'd be dick number two?"

I laughed. "Something like that, yeah." The waitress brought our drinks and I waited until she'd gone again before I continued. "Actually, Nikolai does all of the tossing; he's the one that tossed you on your ass that night you decided to be my knight in shining flannel. Then there's Misha. He just sort of…watches. He freaks me out. He's really quiet and he's good looking, but when he looks at you, it's just cold—there's nothing there."

"I didn't know you worked for Russians. The club is owned by Russians? And he's good looking?"

I laughed at the way the end of that snuck in there. "Yeah, they're Russian." I tried my best not to smirk. "And yeah…he's good looking…if you go for that kind of thing."

"Thing as in good looking…" he clarified.

I nodded. "Yep."

He watched me for a minute and I said nothing, letting this play out. I didn't bite that easily. "So…" he started, "what makes someone 'good looking?' And do _you_ 'go for that kind of thing?'"

I shrugged. "Depends I guess."

"On?"

"Well, someone who's not really that cute can be really attractive if they're really nice or something. And the same kind of thing—someone can be really cute and be a real fucking asshole."

"And this Misha guy is which one?"

"I don't know. I don't talk to him."

"But he's 'good looking.'"

I snorted. "He's a good looking guy, yeah. But he creeps me out." I paused and then added, "And I'm already dating you."

He looked really, really pleased with that. "Oh."

"Do you feel better now?"

He got all squirmy in his seat. "I didn't… I mean, I wasn't _jealous_ or anything. I was just…"

"Fishing for me to be nice?"

"No." He waved me off. "I wasn't doing that either. I was just...getting clarification."

"In case you run into a really cute guy, and you want to know if he's just good looking or actually worth your time?"

He chuckled, and looked amused, but kind of embarrassed, too. "No."

The waitress taking our order saved Tyler from more embarrassment, but he was still smirking and not really looking at me when she left.

"Hey."

His eyes cut to me.

"You're both. For the record."

"Both what?"

"Good looking and worth my time."

The smile that broke out on his face was really epic. And for quite possibly the first time since I'd known him, Tyler Hawkins seemed speechless.

He finally just looked out the window for a few seconds before he turned back to me. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He didn't seem comfortable with more compliments, and he cleared his throat. "So who's the number one dick then? If it's not Mr. Good-Looking. And I feel the same way about you."

Oh, nice how he snuck that in there quickly. "Thanks. And Yev. Number one dick is Yev."

"Yev?"

"Yes, Yev."

"What kind of name is Yev? I mean, even in Russian."

"It's short for Yevgeny, but no one can pronounce that so we shortened it to just Yev."

"How did four Russians wind up running a strip club in New York?"

I snorted. "Well, I'm pretty sure they're Russian mob, so… That's how. Word on the street was they wanted in that neighborhood—the Russians. And when Big Eddie wouldn't sell, they bumped him off, and took over the club, and sent the Reznikova brothers to run it. Nikolai is a cousin or something, and I've never asked about Misha because he freaks me out."

We paused while the waitress came back to take our order and I could tell Tyler was impatient for her to get the fuck away from our table.

"So…wait," he started when she left, "you're telling me that you work for the mob?"

"No, I work for the Reznikova brothers. If they happen to be in with the mob, that's not my business. They don't run shit out of the club as far as I can tell, but I mind my own fucking business, too. I think that's why we get along. I don't ask questions. I think they own another club uptown, but a club, club, not a strip club—it's upscale. That's probably where they're running the real shit out of—I bet that's the front for the shit that they bankroll. Plus, Big Eddie's has really close access for Jersey 'cause it's right by the Tunnel, and there's a ton of Russians in Jersey."

He blinked at me several times.

I smirked. "What?"

"I…I'm really not sure what to say."

I snorted. "You don't have to say anything. I was just making conversation."

"I think I'm kinda floored you work for the mob."

"I don't work for the fucking mob, Tyler. I work for Yev and Anatoly. They're decent to me. They treat all the girls ok, and they don't have backroom shit, which is really rare for a strip joint. They've been good to me."

The waitress brought our food out, and I think it probably saved Tyler from saying more shit that would make breakfast not as enjoyable as it was currently.

As we started to eat, he asked, "So do you know any Russian?"

I smiled. "Yeah, Anatoly was trying to teach me some this week. I'm not sure how much I remember though. And I can't pronounce half of the shit."

"Well, what do you remember?"

"Da and Nyet are Yes and No."

He laughed. "Those are good to know."

"Suka is bitch."

"Moodak is asshole."

"Piz da is cunt."

"I see he taught you all the really important and relevant conversational Russian."

"Actually a lot they just shout out at each other, so I ask then what it means. Blyad is fuck."

"So, basically, you can answer in the affirmative or negative, and you can swear at people."

I shrugged. "He also made me remember 'Puzhalsta' and 'Spasiba'—that's 'Please' and 'Thank you.'"

"Well, at least there were some manners in there."

"He's nothing if not polite. His son tried to tell me how to ask and say what your name is. It was something with a lot of voot at the end. Min ya za voot, I think, means 'my name is.' And then you just had to change the first word for 'your name is.'"

"Slim Shady."

I burst out laughing. "Yeah. Only way more hardcore than a white rapper. Although, he's pretty badass for a white boy."

"He's got some good tunes."

"I don't think he would make it long with the Reznikova's."

"Probably not, no."

"And the actual language is nuts when it's written down."

"Yeah it is."

My eyebrows rose.

He smirked. "Cyrillic. It's called Cyrillic."

And then fell into a scowl. "So, you know Russian and what? That was just for fun or something?"

He backpedaled, "No! No, I just know what it's called. I don't know Russian. But my mother is Russian. I'm sure she can still speak it, but her family emigrated when she was really young and so she doesn't really have the same grasp of it anymore. And she never really spoke it around us. Other than sometimes at night or she'd sing this one song to Caroline sometimes. But no, I don't know any of it. I wasn't putting you on the spot or checking it or anything. I just—"

I couldn't help smirking at him. "Chill. It's good."

He took a deep breath and let it out. "Christ."

I giggled. "I didn't know she was Russian."

He was cute when he got all rattled. "Yeah, her maiden name was Derevko or something."

"No fucking way!"

"Uh, yeah."

"That's Nikolai's last name!"

"The bouncer?"

"Yeah! Maybe they're related!"

"I doubt it."

"No, Tyler, you could be, like, a mafia prince or some shit, and not even know it!"

He scoffed. "I don't think so. I'm not cut out for the mob."

I shrugged. "I dunno, you've got certain…qualities."

His look was close to glaring. "And what does that mean?"

I shrugged again. "Well, you're dangerous and violent, and your father is, like, a corporate criminal the way you tell it."

He grinned. "Yeah, there is that. Dangerous, huh?"

I nodded. "And violent."

"Good thing I'm cute and worth your time then, huh?"

"Good looking. Not cute."

He looked hurt. "You mean, I'm not cute?"

"You are sometimes."

"Huh."

"This is not one of them."

"I can live with that."

"Good. Otherwise I'd call you a moodak."

"Which one was that again? Asshole?"

"Yeah."

"It's sexier in Russian."

I rolled my eyes, laughing at him. "You're impossible."

"But good looking and worth your time."

"I guess so."

"I thought that was sealed already. I thought we agreed on that."

"Well, I can always change my mind."

"I don't like that plan."

"Then I guess you'll have to make sure I don't change my mind."

He sat quietly for a few seconds and then asked, "How am I doin'?"

I bobbed my head back and forth, thinking. "Eh, you're doin' ok so far."

"Good. If I pay for breakfast, does that get me extra points?"

"I dunno if it'll get you points, it might get you a blowjob if you're really good."

I surprised him. I should start marking this shit down, because that was twice now in the same day he was speechless.

"What?" I asked.

"I didn't think…" he trailed off.

"I didn't say it was gonna be today. I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Not this soon."

He nodded. "Right, ok. No, I'm not—I didn't think you were gonna today. I just—"

I stopped him, "I didn't say it was gonna be never again, either."

"Right."

"But I feel bad asking you to wait again. Like you're not really waiting for anything because I can't ever seem to get past that point."

Sometimes there was this shift in his eyes. When he went from thinking and analyzing to something else. Something that I didn't really have a name for, or could put into words. Like understanding or caring, but never sympathy. Just that he was trying to be kind. "It's not a problem, ok?"

I watched his eyes for a while, but the intensity never changed, and he wasn't lying to me, either. I nodded slowly. "Bez prablem," I said quietly.

"What does that mean?"

"No problem."

One corner of his mouth went up, and he nodded once. "Bez prablem, Allison."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	25. Chapter 25

**********Thanks to everyone that reviewed! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.**

* * *

**I just received the coolest PM:  
**

Congratulations!  
One (or tons) of your readers recommended Here to Fall for Fic of the Week  
over at The Lemonade Stand. It's a weekly poll and is open for two more days.  
Be sure to let your readers know so they can show you some love! And we're  
tweeting, updating our statuses, hitting up Tumblr, and getting it out there  
any way we can, too!  
The top five winners' links and summaries will be featured in The Award  
Winning Fic Collection and added to the "Recommended Reading List" on the side  
bar. The first place story will be featured with a review.  
tehlemonadestand. net  
Best of luck,  
TLS

**Thanks to everyone that recommended! To vote, you can use the link provided in the PM. I sincerely appreciate it! :) **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**TPOV**

Things sort of fell back into routine, but...not.

I think we both felt it—this sort of odd or awkward air that pervaded things. Like we were comfortable with each other, but things hadn't really resolved completely, and we were still both protecting ourselves a little bit. She was protecting against another mistake of rushed sexuality, and I was protecting against letting one happen, while still defensively reigning in any ideas of intention I had.

It was oddly domestic.

And clichéd, joke kind of material that resembled a sexless marriage.

School was over for the semester, summer was going to start, and…well, it wasn't like I spent _a lot _of time at school anyway, but without even a semi-regular class schedule, I had a lot more free time, and she spent a lot more time sleeping over at my apartment. I wasn't sure that was because the first place we slept after was my place, or if she was avoiding Jordan; I never really asked. But it was a helluva lot longer trip to my apartment than it was to hers after work. And I hated that she was travelling so far at night that I actually suggested we stay at her place several times only to have her wave me off. There were a lot of mornings that completely lacked sleep because I waited up for her to finish with her shift, and wanted the assurance that she made it back to me ok.

The first few days after, we danced around each other a lot, trying not to force the other into some situation where we'd be compelled to touch. When we weren't working, and we shared space, I actively reminded myself not to touch her, not to make her uncomfortable. We continued to change separately, and everything was almost platonically affectionate. I kissed her goodbye or goodnight quickly, no lingering lips or tongue-tracing over her teeth. I held her at night or she stepped into my arms to be held, but there was nothing tense or sexual about it. Her hand would rest on my chest at night, or I ushered her into a room with my hand on the small of her back. And I mean, that was fine; it was great; that level of intimacy was something a lot of couples didn't have. It was also really fucking frustrating. Because intimacy without being intimate when I was basically a walking hard-on of attraction to this girl was annoying. I didn't want to rush her; and I wouldn't. But there were some days where I just ached to pull her closer, to grind my hips into her, to kiss her harder and longer, with more behind it, to reach over and take her goddamn hand and put it right over my dick. It bothered me endlessly that when she went back to work, and she was stripping again, that random hands-grabby assholes got to see her naked, and I couldn't even be in the room when she changed. It seemed so fucking antithetical. And illogical.

As the weeks went on, my caution with boundaries began to seem sort of pointless, and slowly deteriorated. I was used to touching her; it came naturally. It was actually harder to remember _not_ to touch her. And I could tell the same applied to her. We got increasingly tired of pulling back hands in affectionate gestures, of trying to pass off leaning in to kiss as something else. We still didn't bust out the sex lexicon, and there was sadly no nudity, but I wasn't as concerned with random touches, they just became normal again. And I was grateful for that.

I think we tried to just do normal things. Resume dating only with the one missing facet.

It wasn't at all that I wasn't satisfied. Or happy with her. It was just hard to put the present back in the box once you unwrapped it and enjoyed it. The desire was there. The memories were there. So it was sort of odd to pine for something that you couldn't really have. Look, but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, but don't enjoy it.

It was very contradictory, and completely conflicting. To lie next to her, to have her pressed all up against me, to feel her body through a simple layer of clothing, to have her, and not _have_ her really at the same time. Not that I didn't _have_ her, it just… Ugh. It just fucking sucked. Still. Some more. Like an imaginary divide that wasn't really there, but obviously was, that we both tried to ignore, and neither of us could, but we did our best to look the other way and just try to function anyway so things weren't so fucking awkward and sensitive and _weird_.

I don't think it was any less frustrating for her. Because I think she wanted to try things. I think she wanted to initiate. I knew she thought about the same shit I did. We caught each other giving the lingering looks and the lustful stares; that shit doesn't just go away. But she was hesitant and I wouldn't push.

It felt like progress and regression at the same time some days. One morning she sort of tackled me in the kitchen and I had her up on the counter, kneading her ass and shifting to get the friction we both needed before I really thought about it. It was a dangerous line to ride when I was supposed to be responsible. It took her a lot longer before she started pulling back, and it wasn't like she just shoved me away, either. She just slowed us down and apologetically left me half hard, her hand lingering on my face long enough that I knew she wanted to keep going, but wasn't there yet.

As I moved back far enough for her to sneak around me, it was hard not to make it feel like rejection, even if I knew that's not what it was.

"C'mon, we're going grocery shopping," she said, perfect deflection executed.

The art of deflection, by Allison Clark. So, being the awesome boyfriend I am, I sucked it up like a man and totally pushed the cart around the store.

"Why exactly are we grocery shopping now?"

"Because we can't keep eating out all the fucking time. And you never have anything in your apartment that can be made into a meal." She dropped something in the cart.

"What is that?"

"Bok Choy."

"What the fuck is that?"

She paused, and dropped some carrots in the cart. What, were we turning into vegetarians? I couldn't live on roughage. "I don't know what the fuck it is, either. You throw it on the stove and throw in some other veggies and it makes stir fry, and it's Chinese."

"And you expect that I'm going to be able to make this when you're not around?"

She rolled her eyes and cocked a hip at me. "Did I say I was going to let you make it? It's more like if you have the fucking food in the house, then I can cook it, right?"

"Right."

She gestured. "Well, there ya go."

I followed her down the aisle while she picked out some other shit that I wasn't gonna ask about. "The only good part of this plan so far is that Aidan will never touch that shit. Otherwise it probably won't matter how much food I bring in the place, he'll fucking eat it."

"Well put a lock on the goddamn refrigerator then."

"He'll probably chew through it to get to the beer."

She ignored me.

"Are you really gonna make food at my apartment?"

"Are you really gonna spend this entire trip being annoying? Go get some rice. Jesus. This is why women don't bring men and children grocery shopping." She stalked off for parts unknown, probably to find some other foodstuff that I could not identify, while I dutifully searched for rice.

Why were there 27-bajillion different kinds of rice? Shouldn't there just have been rice? Life would be easier if there weren't half an aisle of varieties. This was probably a test. To see if I could navigate the tumultuous waters of rice-dom because it was somehow intrinsically tied to our sex life and how it was to be defined. Like if picked the wrong fucking rice, I'd never have sex again. Rice came boxed, bagged, instant, ground, popped, puffed, floured, noodled, raw, wild, brown, white, black, fried, processed, long-grain, medium-grain, short-grain, converted, risotto-ed, glutinous, Mexican, Spanish, and Jesus Fucking Christ could be made into wine, cake, vinegar, milk, flakes, paper and tea.

I mean…we were just gonna fucking eat it. Instant in a box or regular in a bag? That had to be the decision here. 50/50 shot.

The box said _Minute Rice_—rice that was ready in a minute—this was totally up my alley, and it had microwave directions. Which probably meant that was a failing grade for what I was instructed to get. So…the bag of just regular rice then. Regular rice seemed practical.

"Fucking hell, I've been looking all over the store for you. You've been here the whole time?"

I was still standing facing the rice, but I had a bag in my hand, that meant I'd actually gotten the rice, technically. I turned my head towards her. "Uh…yeah?" I gestured. "This whole fucking aisle is filled with rice. You didn't say what kind of rice. So I was trying to figure out what kind I was supposed to get." I handed her the bag. "That it?"

She smirked and her head dropped while she looked at the bag. "Yeah, this is fine."

"Fine or it's the right rice?"

Her lip was behind her teeth when she looked up at me again. "It's obvious if I send you to the store you're going to need very specific instructions if we plan on eating that week, much less on a day."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Is it right?"

"Is there something that's tied to this being the right rice?"

I shrugged, getting flustered. "I dunno! Is there?"

She giggled. "No, I just sent you for rice. For the stir fry."

I let out a breath. "Well then the last fifteen minutes have been really pointless."

She threw the rice in the cart and came around to where I'd been wringing the cart handle in panic, and rubbed my back. "Sometimes rice is just rice, Tyler."

One of the many reasons I didn't shop in grocery stores—besides the screaming brats and their grubby paws—there were the angry ladies who rammed you with their fucking cart to get to the chunky peanut butter that was on sale. God forbid you get between a woman and a sale. Then there were the people on the phone who apparently could not rip themselves away from the riveting conversation about their stupid, boring lives, long enough to watch whose ankle they were killing when they distractedly meandered down the aisles. The employees looked younger than Caroline, and I was certain there were some sort of child labor laws being violated, much less that they had nowhere near her level of maturity. They were rude, unhelpful, and distracted themselves. I don't even know what she all threw in the cart. I was honestly trying to stop myself from beating someone for most of the time, and after I asked what something else was for, and she snapped back at me with, "Are you making the fucking food, Tyler?"

"No," I said quickly.

"Then you don't need to know what it is, do you? Shut the fuck up already. God, you'll eat it anyway."

Well, then I just refused to say anything else and she only talked to have me get crap I was closer to or too high for her to reach. I found myself really tense and annoyed by the time we got to the checkouts.

Annoyed. Annoyed with the lack of sex. Annoyed with being frustrated. Annoyed with her frustration. Annoyed with her annoyance at me. Annoyed at the fucking green light flashing above the checkout that surely meant we were going to be in line until next week. Annoyed with the teenagers who kept macking loudly behind us in line. I was legitimately sandwiched between frustration and blatant public displays of affection that I could not even try to conceal my scowl or the mood I was in. I mean, really. What more of an affront to my situation could there be? The only other thing that would have topped it is if they were actually fucking on the floor.

Then the kid in front of us started wailing like the entire world was going to end if he didn't get a fucking Snickers bar, and his mother just continued to ignore the screeching like it wasn't about to cause my ear drums to burst.

My temples were throbbing, and I couldn't tell if it was from the wailing, the frustration, the fact that my dick was really fucking pissed it wasn't getting any play, or the goddamn stress of this fucking trip, but it felt like the blood vessels were gonna rupture any second. I growled angrily, forcing the mother to shift so I could get to the candy, and ripped open the wrapper, handing it to the kid. "I'll pay for the fucking Snickers, ok? _Ok_?" And then turned to the overly affectionate teens. "And you two—get a fucking room. Are you serious? There are kids here!" I gestured to the stunned child who had been stupefied to silence by either my outburst or the candy which he still had clutched, uneaten, in his hand.

Then I went back to tensely hanging onto the cart waiting for the line to move. I think the mother was too embarrassed to say anything back to me, and the kid kept smiling at me with chocolate everywhere that I couldn't help but smirk back. The teens had parted like I was their fucking sex parole officer, and barely looked at each other, much less kept their faces attached.

So I was pretty fucking happy with myself. One dude a line over actually clapped. And then I looked at Allison, which probably should have been my first place to look. I couldn't exactly read her expression. She looked a little shocked, although by now, she should have been used to my tenuous hold on my temper. But I couldn't decide if she was pissed or not. She finally shook her head and rolled her eyes at me, but I was almost positive there was a hint of a smirk there.

The cashier was ridiculously nice to us when we finally got through the line. And it turned out the lady paid for the Snickers, so score there. I should have public outbursts more often. Maybe I could get people to do, or not do, all kinds of shit.

The trip home was quiet and almost more frustrating and awkward than everything else. But I really couldn't come up with anything to say. She didn't seem particularly willing to start topics either.

Before dinnertime, Aidan, of all people, had gotten her to lighten up over video games while I basically sulked like a child. It wasn't that I wasn't happy that she was happier, or that she was smiling more than I'd seen in a while. I was glad for that. But it grated on my nerves because I still wasn't happy. It wasn't the sex. It was just… I dunno. I finally left the living room and went to read in my room, but kept getting distracted and pissed when I could them laughing and having a grand fucking time out there. I abandoned that for the roof, just wanting quiet—or not quiet really, because there was no place in the city that was quiet—but I wanted the banal noises that New Yorkers were used to—the traffic, the sirens, the car horns, people walking and talking and yelling. Pure silence would be weird. I wanted the distraction from them.

I walked right past them, right in front of the fucking TV and she had the decency to at least give a shit that I might have been leaving. When she asked where I was going, I had to fight with myself not to say something I'd regret later—like _well as no one seems to give a shit, I'm gonna walk to Brooklyn and jump off the bridge_, and instead gave her a one-word answer of: "Roof."

The whole exchange took less than five seconds; I never stopped walking and she didn't get up from the couch, just nodding instead.

I should have brought the guitar or something because I hadn't even bothered to bring a book and it required too much focus. With the guitar, at least that I could have just messed around with. The notes, the tones, they wouldn't have needed an order; they didn't need a song or a pattern. I could have just gotten lost in the motions of it, in whatever came out.

Instead I would up thinking way too fucking much.

About Allison and why we couldn't break out of this frustration. Why couldn't we have played the video games? Why hadn't she suggested it if she wanted to do it? Why did it take Aidan? What the fuck did my asshole roommate have today that I didn't? It seemed really ass backwards. I was the boyfriend. And rationally, I knew Aidan was just trying to help and he had no intention of some master plan to steal Allison out from under me with fucking Mario Brothers 3.

Anger and frustration didn't breed reason though. It just multiplies paranoia. And insecurity. And I had enough of that to share. Because no one asked if I wanted to join in. No one came to the bedroom to get me from my obvious sulking. No one said a word about me going to the roof. No one came up to get me and it seemed my absence was welcomed. Hell, maybe Aidan could fuck her right out of her shell—maybe a completely insensitive asshole, who couldn't manage anything beyond the emotional range of a video game in terms of actual feelings, was just what she needed. It'd probably be like coming home for her! Just what she was used to!

I knew I was being ridiculous. I just couldn't stop. I admit it was completely juvenile, but I'd gotten it into my head that I was staying on the goddamn roof until someone came to get me.

It was getting dark before that happened.

"You fall asleep?" she asked, entirely too fucking cheerily.

I didn't turn my head to look at her. "No."

She was quiet for a minute before she started again, "You gonna stay up here all night?"

"Maybe." Wow. I was being a total dick, and I couldn't even contain it.

She left abruptly. And that surprised me. I thought she'd at least get pissed before doing that. Maybe she had me all figured out. I was expecting a fight; an argument at least! I debated whether to go down or not and I decided that was best when she came back.

Oh man, Prickville, Population: One. She had food with her. She handed me a plate and sat down in the chair across from me.

Stir fry. Rice. Bok Choy. Other unidentifiable vegetables. It smelled great.

She started eating, largely ignoring my tantrum. It was very infuriating.

"Where's Aidan?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Downstairs."

"He didn't want to join the roof party?"

She chewed slowly and watched me. "I didn't ask him to."

"Surprising." She wasn't giving me much to work with here, fight wise.

She shrugged again. "He's eating downstairs."

"Ah."

"What's up with you?" she asked, unfortunately not at all confrontationally; it was very conversational.

I shrugged.

"You've had a stick up your ass ever since we got back to the apartment."

"I have?" I asked, a sharpness to my voice I wished I could erase.

She nodded. "Yeah. What's with the mood? The store wasn't that bad."

"You and Aidan have a good time?"

She smiled, completely missing (or ignoring) the tone apparently. "Yeah. I haven't played since that night we did. I kinda forget about it. It was fun."

"Yeah, seemed like you two were having lots of fun."

She swallowed and stared me down. "Ugh. What the fuck does that mean?"

"Nothing. Just that you seemed to be pretty chummy."

She sighed. "Seriously?"

I shrugged, pushing. "Didn't seem to care that I wasn't there." I seriously hated myself. I mean, I don't even know why the hell I was talking. I should have just ate the fucking stir fry and been happy about it.

I must have pushed far enough. "Oh, my God! We're not doing the jealousy thing here, are we? We're not. No, we're not. Who the fuck did I cook this for? I fucking even brought it here for your dumb ass."

There was that, yeah. Shit, I didn't have a retort to that.

She didn't need one. I'd pushed too far.

"I mean, you're up here pouting like some cunt that didn't get his way. I was through with controlling dickwads a long time ago, Tyler. If that's what you think this is now, you can kiss my fucking ass. I'm not doing this with you. You know who I'm with. And you're not going to start telling me who and who I can't hang out with or who I can and can't be friends with. Are you fucking kidding me? Who do you think you are? Just because I can't jump right back into sucking your cock? I thought you were better than this. And Aidan? Seriously? You think I'd just jump from one roommate to the other because he played a fucking video game with me?"

She chucked her plate at me. Rice and vegetables went everywhere, kind of in slow motion. The plate smacked into my chest and bounced off, clattering before settling on the ground. The sound was rather deafening, even in the all the city noise.

"Have fun trying to find the Bok Choy in that asshole, and grow the fuck up."

And then she turned heel and stomped off the roof.

And I actually sat up there for a few extra minutes, and had a few bites off of my plate, guilty because it was really fucking good and guiltier still because she wasted her entire plate. 'Cause I was a dumbass. And it became glaringly obvious to me that she really didn't need my bullshit on top of everything else. That wasn't going to help her get over anything faster.

I picked up what I could and left the rest for whatever scavengers decided to grace our roof and took the stairs down two at a time. I needed to fix this.

Aidan was sitting on the couch enjoying his own plate of food and I scanned the visible apartment. She couldn't have packed that quickly and taken off.

"Where is she?"

Aidan chewed while looking at me. And took his sweet fucking time answering. If she had time to pack up and go already, I was losing valuable time here. He finally just sighed and shook his head at me, going back to his meal. "Bathroom. Heard the shower."

I was moving before he finished, but just stood outside the door, thinking better of my original plan of barging in and making some big speech about how much of a fucking idiot I was. Barging would be intrusive. And it wouldn't help the cause with all the naked and privacy violations. I trudged to my room instead, knowing she had to come in there after the shower, and sat on the bed, elaborate and inclusive apologies running through my head. I had about four versions drafted in the time she was in the shower, but lost them all abruptly when the door opened and she exited in a mist of steam and fog.

Her eyes met mine, but she was still plenty pissed and avoided eye contact after the first initial meeting.

I valued that she called me on being a dick when I was one. It was more honest than most people were. And she didn't let me get away with shit.

I walked over to where she was hastily folding clothes and shoving them in her bag. She didn't look like she was leaving really, but I couldn't be sure. I stepped close behind her and snuck my hands around her waist, huddling her into my larger frame and she stiffened for a minute before relaxing into me. I pressed a kiss to her temple from behind and trailed down her face to her neck. "I'm sorry, Allison."

She sighed, leaning into me more.

"I'm not jealous. Not really. I just… It wasn't a good day. And I'm not trying to pressure you. Or be controlling. I'll keep it under control."

"I just don't get why," she started to turn and stopped talking, smirking instead and chuckling at me.

"What?"

She reached up and brushed at my shirt and when I followed the motion, I had rice sticking all over. I laughed while she picked off individual grains of rice.

"What were you gonna say?"

She shook her head, sighing and picked a few more random grains off of my neck. "It's just a guy thing, I think."

"What is?"

"You just don't normally do it. So I suppose I can give you a pass this time because you normally talk to me all the time."

I shook my head back in answer.

"Guys do that—they just assume and get jealous and shit instead of just talking to me. Or you could have said you wanted to play or something."

I sighed back. "It's not even that. I don't care who you play video games with. It was just me. I was just being… yeah. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"For what? You don't have anything to be sorry for."

She waved a hand at me. "Well, I'm sorry I can't just go back to sucking your cock. I'd like to."

I laughed. "I'd like that, too. But it's ok you can't. And it's my problem to keep my frustration under control. Because it's really not about that. And I don't want it to feel like you're not making the decision."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"And, ya know, anytime you want to suck my cock, it's available," I teased.

She snorted. "So selfless. Thanks."

"No problem." I backed up. "Is there more stir fry? 'Cause I'll get you some since I wound up wearing your plate."

"Yeah, there's more."

"K, I'll get you a plate."

"Why don't you shower first? I don't want to sleep with rice tonight."

"Good plan." I nodded.

"I'll heat up some for both of us."

"Cool."

When I got out of the shower, she was sitting on the bed with her back against the wall, busily finishing off her plate. She smirked. "Sorry, I couldn't wait. I was hungry."

I waved her off while running the towel over my head. "It's fine. It's my fault you didn't get to eat it originally."

She watched me for a second before pointing to my plate. "Didja get all the rice outta your pants?"

I chuckled. "They're strangely erotic against my cock."

"S'probably because anything against your cock feels good right now."

I was kinda surprised she was allowing joking about this subject, but I didn't miss a beat. I didn't want that openness to go away. "Well, that was pretty much always—just about anything feels good against it."

She licked her lips and it was both infuriating and distracting because I couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not. "Well, I can dump this plate on you, too if you'd like to be alone with your stir fry. Or I can make sure you have some the next time you wanna jerk off. Maybe it'll make your showers even more special."

I smirked while grabbing my plate and plopping next to her on the bed. "We're talking an awful lot about my cock tonight."

"It's what you think with, right? Only fair."

I nearly spit out my first bite laughing. "Not lately. Or maybe more so," I said, thinking. "Hold on, lemme try."

She shoved at me. "Eat your fucking stir fry."

"I'm not sure I want to eat it now or dump it all over myself." I paused. "And I think the fact we're talking so much about my cock means you really want to do something with it. I think it's some sort of unconscious want of yours." I shoveled a bite in. "Thanks for heating this up again. It's really good."

"On, it was no trouble." She paused. "I just scraped your old stuff from the roof on the new plate."

I stopped chewing for a second but then shrugged and started again. "Thanks."

She giggled. "I didn't really."

"I didn't think so. But I would have eaten it anyway."

She nodded. "I know you would have."

"Oh, so you were just testing me then? Testing my devotion? Toying with me?"

"Maybe."

"Did I pass that better than I passed the pick-the-rice test?"

She burst out laughing. "Totally. That wasn't really a test though—I just wanted you to get some fucking rice."

"I think with my cock, remember? I need very specific instructions. And I'll never be able to buy rice again without having a hard-on in the middle of the aisle after the great shower the rice and I just shared."

"Ya know that was pretty funny with the kid and the Snickers. That mother was about as red as the tomatoes in her cart. She'll probably never say no to another Snickers in her life."

I smirked. "I feel kinda bad about that. But the kid wouldn't shut up."

"The guy that clapped was hilarious."

"Yeah? I just heard him, I couldn't see him."

"He was old. Like way old. It was funny."

I chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds. "So…that was pretty much our first fight, I think."

"Yeah? We haven't had one before?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. Not that I can remember. So if we did, it couldn't have been very satisfying."

She laughed. "So how do you think we did? That's a pretty long time if we've made it this long and not had one, right? I mean, I guess I dunno really how that works, but do you normally wait this long before you have a fight?"

I snickered. "Well, I guess it all depends on the girl. I've had a few relationships where I think it was lucky we didn't have a fight on the first date."

"That bad, huh?"

I nodded, affirmatively. "That bad."

"So…is that good or bad that we don't normally fight?"

"I'd say it's good. Although, we did fight in the street that night I came to the strip club."

She shook her head. "That doesn't count. I wasn't dating you then."

"Right. My bad."

"It was."

I smirked. "I'd say then we're doing pretty well. What do you think?"

She shrugged. "Guess we'll have to see how long you and rice last."

"Fair enough." I finished my plate and set it on the nightstand. "So what do you wanna do? It's still early enough. We could watch a movie or something."

"Sure, movie sounds good."

"What should we watch?"

"I dunno. Whatcha got?"

I was mentally going through our list of DVDs when I remembered. "Oh, shit. I forgot. I got something for you." I jumped off the bed and over to my dresser where I left it the other day when I got it for her. I smiled and handed them off as I plunked down next to her again. "Here."

She sat there for a minute, looking rather stunned, and then separated the two items and held one in each hand. "Tyler…" she said quietly.

"What?"

She didn't say anything and just kept staring at them.

"You said a while ago you wanted to see it…" I started, "And I thought maybe we could read the book next—after we finish _Jonathan_. Or we can just start this one. Whatever you wanna do."

"I…can't believe you remembered."

Her voice was so quiet, and it sort of shocked me sometimes that she could still be this stunned when someone did something nice for her or remembered something that she told them.

I nudged her with my elbow. "How could I not remember? It was a really cute story."

I hadn't actually known how she'd take this. It was a cute story, yes. But it also was really sad. Because so much of her childhood had been completely robbed, and I didn't know if memories of good parts were even something she wanted to recollect.

"Allison Wonderland," I said, smiling.

"Allison Wonderland," she repeated, nodding. I didn't say anything else and it took her a minute before she made a noise that I couldn't identify.

"What?"

"God, I still wanted to be kind of pissed at you, and be all annoyed all night, and now I just can't. You've completely ruined my chances of staying mad at you."

"Well…score. For me, anyway. I can try to be a dick again, if you want."

She sighed dramatically. "No, it just won't be the same now."

"I'll make some popcorn," I said, kissing her quickly. "You get the movie started."

She nodded and followed a few steps later. Aidan was still being a sloth on the couch. "Get your ass to the other side of the couch if you want to watch a movie with us. You're not sitting between us," I called as I rounded the corner to the kitchen. I heard a distinct sound of disgust behind me and I turned as Allison passed me. "What?"

"Asking Aidan to watch it with us? Overachiever, much?" She smiled and leaned back to wink at me. "I said I couldn't stay mad already."

I smirked, shrugging. "Well, I mean, I'll take all the points I can get."

"What are we watchin'?" Aidan asked, suddenly right in the kitchen, peering over Allison's shoulder while checking out what I was getting. "Oooh, popcorn, good idea. I'll get the beer."

"Allison Wonderland," I said, smiling.

"_Allison_ Wonderland?" he asked, opening the fridge. He pulled out two beers and dove back in for a Diet Coke for her, which oddly did not piss me off like it would have earlier. It was nice he knew what she drank. He popped up abruptly, "Wait…is this like a porno or something?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Did you two make up and now you're gonna include me in some weird sex act?"

I chucked the popcorn pack at his head and was incredibly satisfied when it hit its mark and bounced off his head before landing on the floor. "Now you're making the popcorn. Gimme the drinks."

He laughed, and passed them off to me. "Ok. But if it's burned, it's not my fault."

"Ugh." I shoved them back at him and grabbed the popcorn from the floor. "Just go sit down."

"No, seriously, what's the deal?"

I rolled my eyes at him.

"You can tell him," Allison said, waving as she walked down the hall. "I'm gonna pee before the movie."

"When Allison was little she thought that _Alice in Wonderland_ was really Allison Wonderland and was really excited because there are no characters named Allison and it was a Disney movie and how cool is that to share your name with a Disney character? And Wonderland was a really awesome place to escape to. But then she got really disappointed when she was older and realized it was really Alice and not Allison, and Wonderland's really not that great 'cause it's all fucked up and 'Off with her head!' and shit, but she still likes the story and so I got her the movie."

Aidan blinked at me. A lot. He took a deep breath. "Well that's just not as exciting as I thought it was gonna be. 'Cause we're actually watching the Tim Burton movie then?"

I laughed and Allison was chuckling as she came back into the kitchen. "Yes, Aidan. Go sit down."

He grumbled something about getting high and went off to the couch, leaving us in the kitchen alone. She smiled softly at me. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I loved when she smiled at me like that, and was so genuinely appreciative of things that most people weren't. I mean, yeah, sure, most people were grateful, but with Allison it was different. If nothing else because she wasn't used to it and it always seemed to mean more. And it made me feel like I was doing something good, and right, with her.

She leaned over and kissed me gently before ducking her head and joining Aidan on the couch. The way she looked at me sometimes…

I was smiling the entire time I made the popcorn. Even while thinking about the things I left out of the story for Aidan. I left out the major parts about her first watching the Disney movie in some shitty foster center before being placed in yet another home. And how much Wonderland appealed to a kid that wanted to get out of the system and how much she wanted to run away and find the nearest white rabbit to follow. And how crushing it must have been for that same kid to find out that Wonderland wasn't at all as great as it seemed and was pretty much just another version of the real world, with the same problems, and the same evil people, and the same shitty things they did to you. And how one of the only things she had to relate to was a cartoon character that ultimately disappointed her. And then how sad it was that she was glad the girl in the movie was Alice instead of Allison because she didn't want to share her name with her. And how movies became something external that normal kids did, and she didn't really see any other ones until I started taking her.

But that was over now. And I hoped that the movies and the gifts and the little things I did would overpower all of the bad shit she had before.

The movie was a trip. But she seemed to like it. And all previous joking aside—she was totally right—I was thinking with my cock the entire time the movie was playing. And I couldn't even seem to help it. And it was almost worse because we were sort of back on track and not fighting with each other over frustration and annoyance. Because I was happy with her. She made me happy. She made me stir fry. And she deserved things like surprise movies and books and everything else. And it just made me want her more. And at least currently, with her snuggled into me, munching on popcorn while she got lost in Allison Wonderland, it wasn't even the least bit frustrating.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	26. Chapter 26

******************Thanks to everyone that reviewed! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**APOV**

You'd think that the longer Tyler and I were together that I would get used to him being a great boyfriend. He wasn't perfect; he had anger issues and sometimes pouted like a child, or went completely apeshit on a mother who refused to give her child candy in a grocery store. He pushed until I was so angry I flung food at him, plate and all. But he was incredibly thoughtful. And when he fucked up, he admitted he was wrong, and he owned his mistakes. He never lied to me, and he remembered shit that I didn't even remember telling him. Thoughtful like with flowers. Thoughtful with preserving them, even if it failed miserably. Thoughtful like buying a DVD and a book and remembering something bittersweet from my childhood that I didn't even have the words to tell him how much it meant to me.

So it was with all that in mind that I found myself completely panicking because Aidan had told me less than 24 hours in advance that Tyler's birthday was tomorrow. And that had completely slipped my mind. In all honesty, I think he only told me once, and it was on our first date, and I was more leery and less _oh my God_ long-term relationship than I was now. If he told me now—I would have made sure I remembered.

I still felt incredibly bad though because I had a feeling he knew mine. Even if it was on our first date that he learned it.

He had a great memory. I had a history of trying to forget. I think in there somewhere I probably deserved a break but I still felt bad. Just one more thing to feel bad for. Thing was—I was getting frustrated with myself. The frustration and the annoyance that we were throwing back and forth at each other was because of both of us, but mostly it was me. And it wasn't like I felt like that was _wrong_, I knew myself; I knew what I could and couldn't do, but I _wanted_ to do things. I wanted to be able to just jump back into everything physical with him. And my body was seriously attacking because it wanted it, too. I just had to figure out how to get my mind to catch up. I felt bad that my frustration with myself was bleeding over and making him more frustrated. Because he hadn't tried to start anything with me since that night; he left it all up to me—and I loved him for it, but then I felt even worse if I tried to start something and wound up having to push him away, or stop. It felt like I was jerking him around, and I didn't think he thought that I was, but if I had the thoughts, he did, too.

I spent my whole life thinking that people were smarter with me, and I realized that when I met Tyler—I thought the same thing. But we were sort of smart in different ways. And he never made me feel like I wasn't. Now though? I felt really stupid. And completely fucked. How could I come up with a good present in less than a day? I would have been lucky to come up with one if I had months! And while Tyler was thoughtful, I don't think I had that talent. I didn't have any experience with being thoughtful. And I really didn't think he cared honestly—he wouldn't expect me to get him anything, but I wasn't sure what that said, either. And I didn't want him to be disappointed.

"Aidan, I'm fucked!"

"Why?"

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I thought you knew!" He paused. "I was thinking about throwing a party."

Way to stay focused on my problem, Aidan. "Do you think he wants that?" I didn't think he wanted that. Not really. And I wasn't a birthday expert, but I was pretty sure that the birthday person was the one that decided what they wanted to do—not what Aidan wanted.

"No. He doesn't. He told me he doesn't. So that's why we have to."

"Why would we if he said he didn't want one?"

Aidan sighed and looked at me for a minute. Did he know something I didn't? Was that ass-backwards guy code or something? Was this some other social shit I didn't know? No meant no! "Do you know about Michael?"

"Yeah."

"And you know how he died?"

"Yeah."

"And that he did it on his birthday?"

"Yeah."

"And he was twenty-two."

"Yeah."

Aidan made this gesture like _There ya go!_ Like… what? I shook my head. "What the fuck are you saying? He's suicidal? And a party will help?" What. The. Fuck? It was like we weren't speaking the same language.

"No! God, no. Not anymore."

"What?"

"Just, no. I just mean—I think we need to make it a bigger, happy…thing. Because he's gonna be fucked up tomorrow. And I don't know if he was ever suicidal, but he was a really depressed motherfucker before he met you. Or not depressed, but just like…like there was no life left there anymore. You know what I mean? Like it wasn't really the Tyler we all knew before. Caroline was the only thing that kept him here, that kept that little spark of Tyler around. So I'm glad there are two things that keep him here now."

That was probably one of the nicest things anyone, besides Tyler, had ever said to me. And I sort of impulsively hugged Aidan—which he was surprised about, but hugged me back anyway.

When I let go, he smiled gently at me. "Right, so I think we need to have a party."

"I really don't know if that's a good idea. What if we make it worse?"

He shrugged. "I think we have to try. I mean ignoring his birthday isn't good, either."

I chewed on my lip. "Yeah. I guess." Actually, I was kinda sure that Tyler might want to ignore the whole day altogether. He hadn't said a word about it. And if he wanted to celebrate, I figured he probably would have at least hinted to me. But he hadn't said anything.

"Yeah, so we should have a little party. Invite some people."

"What people?"

Aidan shrugged. "I dunno. There are other people in the building we party with occasionally. Could invite them. Could invite his family, too."

I thought about that for a few seconds. "Aidan, I really think you should keep it small. I don't think he's gonna like it if there are a lot of people here."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I'll think about it some more."

"Yeah, good plan." I let a beat pass. "What are you getting him?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. We usually go half serious, half bullshit. So I'll see what comes to mind today while I'm out."

I nodded. That was very unhelpful. And I didn't want to do half bullshit presents.

"You?" he asked.

"No fuckin' clue."

~ooOoo~

"Hey," I said, when he came through the door, backpack flung next to his bike where it'd probably stay until he had class again in the fall. I wasn't sure why he took it with him to work—probably just to cart shit back and forth. I don't think I'd ever actually seen him open it. I was in the kitchen, making dinner, and it struck me how oddly domestic we'd become and we weren't even having sex. I wasn't sure if that was normal or not.

"Hey," he said back, quietly, kind of sighing it. But was the sigh because he was unhappy about the birthday, or because I hadn't acknowledged it?

"How was work?"

"Boring."

"You hungry?"

"Starving." He seemed slightly more upbeat at the idea of food.

"I made lasagna. It'll be ready in a few minutes."

"God, that sounds really good." He came up behind me, hands inching towards my stomach to rest there. I liked that he did that a lot. It was comfortable now. Natural.

"I do have bad news though."

He sighed behind me, his forehead dropping to the top of my head. "I don't want bad news. Lie to me instead."

I thought a minute. "Ok… I…don't have to have to work tonight?" I was only half-lying—because I had to work, but not as many hours as I was gonna tell him. I needed some kind of window for finding a fucking present.

He chuckled in my hair, the puff of breath from the laugh moving my hair and making goosebumps spread all over my neck and arms. "That sucks."

"But I made you dinner before I have to go," I offered. "And I'll be back really, really late or really, really early. What time do you work tomorrow?"

"I dunno. Like, noon, I think." He sighed again; this was becoming a thing for tonight. "Noon until six or something. I actually have to tell you something, too."

Oh, shit. Was he gonna bust me for not remembering his birthday? Or something else? My stomach dropped when he said shit like that. I was too uncertain about myself when he said shit like that. What if it was really bad? About us? About me? "Yeah?"

"I have this… I gotta go over to my mom's tomorrow morning for a few hours. For this…thing. A family thing. And I don't really wanna go, but she's forcing me and Caroline pulled the crying card if I didn't come, so… I have to go."

"Oh. Ok. But it'll be after I get back from work?"

"Yeah, yeah. Nine or something. So you might still be sleeping."

Much better than I thought it might be. But that meant they were having a birthday _thing_ for him.

"And…I want you to understand something. Because… " He tightened his grip on me. "I've been fighting with myself for the last few days because I want you to come. But I don't, too."

"What does that mean?" What _did _that mean?

"It's not, no—that's not what I mean. It's me. Or it's them. I just… This isn't coming out at all like I wanted it to."

I chuckled and turned around, my arms going around his back. "You're just ashamed of me. Is that it?"

I was teasing, but he didn't realize that at first, "No! Of course not! That's not it at all. And… " He saw me smirking and sighed instead. "I want to take you. I just kinda don't want to share you. I like that you're the one thing that's just mine, ya know?"

Aww. I rested my head on his chest. His heart was beating steadily, a little fast; his body was warm and his hands were linked, relaxed by my back. "Yeah, I get it."

"I'm not ashamed of you," he said. "Of you or what you do. And my family's not really judgmental; my mom's a social worker. I just want to keep you for a little while yet. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, Tyler that's fine."

He put a little space between us but didn't let go, and tipped my chin up to look at him. "You know I'm not ashamed of you, right?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He nodded back. "Ok."

"So pretty much you won't be home until after work tomorrow then, right?" Please say yes—that'd give me almost a whole extra day to plan and figure shit out.

"Yeah. I'll probably go to work right from my mom's."

"K. I'll make you dinner then."

"That'd be awesome."

I padded a few hours for me to go shopping before work after we had dinner, and even through dinner, I could tell things were off with him. I didn't mention it because he didn't seem to want me to, and I could tell he was not in a talkative mood. Still—he didn't seemed overly depressed—just…thoughtful. The look he got when he was thinking too much about something.

~ooOoo~

I basically fumbled my way through two stores before the complete panic set it. I went to a book store first, and while looking over hundreds if not thousands of titles I didn't know, I decided that was not a good present idea because I really didn't know what he wanted to read and me giving him a book wasn't the same as he giving me one. He was already well-read, and while I was sure there were books that were special to him or something that interested him that he didn't have—I really didn't know what those were and it seemed like kind of an impersonal gift. I wanted this one to mean more. I wanted it to say something and I couldn't find a book that did that.

I tried a thrift store and flipped through about a bazillion T-shirts, trying to find one that was funny or screamed _Tyler should have this_, but I eventually decided after I wasted nearly an hour that I thought that was kind of impersonal, too. It shouldn't be a funny present; that was Aidan's job. I didn't want something that he could chuckle at. I wanted something that was serious and said something about us, and no T-shirt was gonna do that.

Problem was I didn't know what sort of thing _spoke_ the way I wanted it to. How the fuck did Tyler do this thoughtful shit? It was fucking ridiculous how helpless I felt just browsing through a few stores. Aidan had been no help; Jordan didn't really know Tyler, and I couldn't think of anyone else that would be able to help. I didn't know any of his other friends, or family, and it was sort of pushing over into desperation. I had to work in an hour, and while I had most of the day tomorrow to look as well, cutting it that close was already making me nervous. I was just no good at this shit.

I wound up wandering into a pawn shop on the way to the club after I basically gave up for the night. I was mad at myself because I didn't know immediately what to go out and get for him. I shuffled around the store, thinking how different an experience this was from the one I usually had in pawn shops around the country. Ordinarily, I would have been the one hawking something that I either picked up along the way or lifted for cash. It was different to be on the other side of the fence. This seemed a lot classier joint than a lot of the ones I had been in, too. Probably still ran shit out of the back room.

I stopped at a wide glass display. It had a variety of different stuff—mostly jewelry, and most of it seemed to be pretty reasonably priced.

I just didn't know if jewelry was the answer I was looking for. Tyler didn't really wear any jewelry, and I wasn't going to be buying him a fucking bracelet, or a watch engraved to someone else and pawned when the relationship went south. A chain with a charm maybe, if something jumped out at me as significant.

"See something you like?"

Ugh. Pawn brokers could be really annoying. I hoped he wasn't one. "I dunno."

"Would you like me to take something out for you?"

I sighed. "I'm not sure yet."

He chuckled. "Hard person to shop for?"

I nodded, my eyebrows furrowed as I looked inside the case. "I'm so fucking lost."

"May I ask who you're looking for a gift for?"

I hesitated a minute, pulling my gaze up to really look at the dude. He seemed nice enough, and I thought he was just being professional and helpful, but I wasn't exactly trusting of strangers. And certainly not ones that asked me questions about personal shit. Definitely not in a pawn shop, either. I was so fucking desperate though, I caved. "My boyfriend." Wow, that seemed odd to say to someone. I hoped I wasn't blushing. I mean, what the fuck was that even? Of all things to make me embarrassed? Or not embarrassed even…just…what the fuck?

"Ah," he said, smiling gently. "Anniversary? Birthday?"

"Birthday."

"Ok. And what does your gentleman like?"

"I dunno. I'm out of ideas, so I thought I'd look around in here."

"Jewelry makes a nice gift," he offered.

"Yeah, but usually it's for the girl."

"Not always."

"I don't even know if he'd want to wear anything."

"Does he wear any other jewelry?"

"No."

"A watch perhaps?"

I snorted. "No."

He nodded. "Not a watch kind of guy. A pendant perhaps? Or a charm?"

"I was thinking about that, yeah."

He made a tray appear like magic. "Anything strike you in there?"

I looked over the different pieces, and I mean, there were a lot of nice ones, just nothing that I thought Tyler would like. "Not really," I said, shaking my head. "It needs to mean something." _Come on, pawn dude—you're a guy—you should know this shit_.

"What should it mean?"

I shrugged, sighing, and getting kind of annoyed. I didn't know what it should mean. I started chewing on my lip.

"How long have you been together?"

The fuck did that have to do with anything? I pulled my eyes up to meet his. "Long enough."

He smiled. "I'm just trying to get an idea of what might fit. Is it a casual relationship or something more serious?"

Jesus, fuck, with the personal questions. I ran my hand through my hair. "It's not casual."

"Hmm." He put the tray away with the pendants and searched through the glass with me. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say cuff links are out."

I snorted. "Uh, yeah."

"What about a ring?" he asked.

I looked at him. "Uh… Do a lot of women come in here and buy rings for guys?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"I guess I think that'd be more something a guy would give instead of the other way around."

He pulled out another tray. "There are plenty of rings that do not signify an engagement or impending wedding."

He was smirking when he said that, and I mean, he was being nice, but that kind of pissed me off. "I know that," I snapped, but it didn't really have the snap to it that I wanted. I looked over the rings. "Ugh, I dunno."

"Celtic designs are quite popular now. And they all have some type of meaning."

"Like what?"

"Well, like this one for example, is a trinity knot, and signifies things in three—sprit, mind, body, religious significances, power, intellect, love. Or there are many animals that are used in Celtic pieces that signify something. The dog, for example, signifies loyalty. The dolphin, good luck and friendship."

Well none of that really screamed Tyler. Wonder if he had any animals that fit wonderful boyfriends with anger issues, and a dislike of birthdays? He must have noticed my unspoken doubt.

"Knots are quite popular. Or Celtic crosses."

"He's not really religious. Where are the knots? What do they mean?"

"Celtic knots are normally endless—there is no beginning or end, so they represent the connection of things."

Hmm. "Connection is good."

"But…"

"I dunno. The knots are nice, I just wanted it to mean something more I guess."

He looked over the tray. "What about this one?" He took one out of the tray and handed it to me.

"What is it?"

"The griffin and dragon—they symbolize fire and water, the male and female aspects of nature. They exist together as a whole. The knots connecting them are thought to represent the journey of life—the cycle that never ends."

"So, wait, the dragon is the guy?"

"No, the dragon is the female symbol."

"That's kinda fucked up."

"The griffin is actually quite an interesting symbol; part eagle and part lion. It represents the duality, the balance of both good and bad. It's a noble creature, gentle but strong, vigilant, and fair. In myth, they were the protectors of life. Because they were so strong, they were often invoked selfishly and in turn could be very vengeful and violent. As fire is its symbol, it demands respect because it can be somewhat unstable."

Well. Sold. That was basically Tyler in a nutshell. And mythic shit on top! Bonus!

But I think he already knew that—if the fucking grin on his face was any indication. "Should I wrap it for you?"

"Depends."

His eyebrows went up. "On?"

"Price."

"Ah."

This was a pawn shop for fuck's sake. Anyone who walked out the door without a haggle didn't belong in the store. I could negotiate. That was no difference no matter which side of the fence you were on. "So let's hammer out a deal, here."

He chuckled. "Usually the sticker price is what we sell things for. That's store policy. And things are already marked well below wholesale value."

"Bullshit," I said quickly.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, but a smirk was firmly in place. "What kind of a deal are you looking for?"

"I walk unless your number is about 20% less."

He licked his lips slowly, his tongue darting out in a way that kind of reminded me of a snake, but that was pretty fucking normal for a pawn broker. They were in this to make money just like everyone else, and I knew he could afford to take what I was offering.

I shrugged. "It's a fair deal."

He took a deep breath, like this was some kind of huge decision for him. "All right. But I don't do this for everyone."

The minute he turned away I was rolling my eyes, because yeah, dude said that to every mook that walked in this joint. I didn't get off the boat yesterday, asshat. There was a process to the way this shit worked. I just sped up the process.

I paid and he wrapped and I was on my way, extremely happy with my find. I was kind of excited, too. And also kind of freaking out, because I hoped he liked it. I spent a lot of the night second-guessing myself and wondering if I shouldn't just have gone with something like the fucking T-shirt. Was it too early to be saying something? Was the ring even saying something? I kind of wanted some kind of sounding board, but I wasn't going to get it at work. Jordan wasn't working tonight, and it wasn't like I felt comfortable enough to ask one of the other girls. Our friendships weren't like that—they were more just people you knew. We stuck together of course, but they weren't really people I could ask. I seriously debating asking Anatoly in between sets, but I chickened out. I mean, at least he was married—he had kids—he had to know shit about dating and birthday rules. It was very annoying. I wasn't used to second guessing my decisions. I made them and took whatever came. I had to learn to use that here, too.

I wasn't sure what I'd find when I got home after work. I didn't know if he would be awake or not. Sometimes he waited up for me, which was completely unnecessary, but he seemed to like it. Other days he was too tired and I'd find him snoring softly or his arm flung out like he was waiting for me to join him in bed. He was asleep tonight, and I was happy he was—maybe the birthday wouldn't go as badly as Aidan originally thought.

I undressed and threw on some pajamas, putting the little box with his ring in it in the pocket of my bag. It wasn't like Tyler ever went through my stuff, but I didn't know if was going to give it to him in the morning or when he got home after work. If he snuck out quietly, I'd miss him in the morning and I wanted to be there when he opened it.

He always left my side of the bed turned down, which I found endlessly adorable, like the bed wasn't completely ready unless I was in it. I crawled into bed and settled against his chest, the arm flung out curling around me, and his jaw burrowing into the top of my head. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly over my hair, mumbling, "Was work?"

I snuggled in closer. "It was fine. How was yours?"

"Mmmboring."

I chuckled. "Maybe tomorrow will be better," I suggested.

He snuffled. "Not likely. Night, Allison."

"Night."

As we fell asleep, I wondered how long he'd actually keep that up—if he'd let the entire day go by and not say anything at all.

~ooOoo~

I had a fuzzy memory of him slipping out from under me, and pressing a kiss into my temple. "I'll call you later."

"Mmmkay."

The next time I heard from him was when he got to work. Not that I could tell his mood really when he left and I was half asleep, but he hadn't seemed to be in a shitty mood. By the time he got to work, that had totally changed.

"Hey," he said. I could tell he was smoking.

"Hi. How'd it go at your mom's?"

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

"Did you have a good time?"

"Not really."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I just didn't really want to go."

This was incredibly difficult talking about when I knew what was going on and he didn't know I knew. I thought about just caving and asking if it was because they threw some family party, but when he was already moody and sounding down, I thought that'd probably just make the day worse and piss him off.

"You at work now?"

"Yeah, just got here. I've got a few minutes yet before I have to go in."

"Yeah, you definitely wouldn't want to be early," I teased.

"Right."

Wow, this conversation was going _so_ well.

"Are you ok, Tyler?"

He sighed, taking another drag of the cigarette. I could picture him actually. Cigarette between his first two fingers of his left hand, thumb scratching over his forehead, right hand holding the phone to his ear.

"Yeah, I just needed to hear a voice of sanity."

~ooOoo~

"Hey, how's work going?"

"It's ok."

"You feeling any better?"

"The books help. They're easy to get lost in. And no one's asked me any stupid questions yet, so that's been good."

I chuckled. "Yeah, customer service might not be your best talent today."

"Definitely not." He paused. "What are you doing?"

Well, trying to decide the best way to tell you I know it's been your birthday all day without sending your slightly improved mood back to the shit storm. "Nothing really. Hanging out. I'm gonna go to the grocery store later. Pick up some stuff for dinner."

"What's for dinner?"

"It's a surprise."

"Mmm. Not sure I want any more of those today." He sighed.

"You sure you're ok?"

"Yeah, just ignore me."

I let the silence carry for a minute, wondering if anything would make him sound less miserable and gloomy today.

"Call me when you're leaving after work, ok?"

"Ok."

"Try to have a good rest of the day."

"Yeah. Bye."

"Bye, Tyler."

I sighed when I hung up. I had to talk to Aidan. This party shit was not going to fly.

~ooOoo~

"Aidan, I don't think you should throw a party."

"Why not?"

"Because he's called me a few times and he sounds really depressed."

"But shouldn't we cheer him up then?"

"I think that'll make it worse. Or if you want to throw him something, then just have it be us. I really don't think he's going to be happy about a party."

"Well what kind of party can two fucking people throw?"

"A quiet one."

"But that's not even the definition of a party!"

"Call it whatever the fuck you want. If you call a bunch of people to show up here, I'm calling him and telling him to meet me at my place instead and to not come home. He doesn't need this today, Aidan. I think it was really hard on him with his family."

He sighed, annoyed. "Fine. What kind of _party_ are we having then? What are we gonna do?"

"I was gonna make him dinner. Maybe we could just all sit down and have dinner."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it. And if he wants to do something else, we can ask him. Otherwise, I think the low key way is the way to go."

"This is bullshit."

"This is what he needs."

"He doesn't know what he needs—that's the problem."

I sighed, waving him off. "You don't know what he needs, that's your problem. I'm gonna go grocery shopping."

"At least get a fucking cake or something." He grumbled to himself. "Can't have a fucking birthday without cake."

I smiled as I turned to walk out. "You're a good friend, Aidan."

"Yeah, no shit!" he called after me.

~ooOoo~

I decided to make him chicken and rice for dinner. Green beans on the side. The same meal I first made for him months ago. I wasn't sure why I picked that, but it just seemed like a good idea. Something familiar. Maybe he needed that today. If he thought it was stupid, well… He'd eat it anyway. I debated just buying a cake that was prebaked, but figured I had enough time to make one. I decided at the last minute before checking out that I'd make pie instead—like a birthday without all the usual recognized shit. Candles could go in pie just as easily.

"Did you get a cake?" Aidan asked impatiently, looking through the bags.

"No."

"No?! Why not? I'll have to go get one now!"

"No, you don't. I'm making a pie instead."

"Pie," he repeated.

"Yes, pie. He likes pie."

"It's a birthday. It's supposed to have cake."

"I'm sure his family had a cake. He likes pie. You can put a fucking candle in pie just as easily."

"But it's not cake!" He argued.

"Just go do something and leave me alone in the kitchen," I said, pointing.

"You guys are so fucking weird. I never thought he'd find someone as weird as he is," he said, walking away in a huff. For some reason, shit he said like that made me really fucking happy.

~ooOoo~

We texted through the rest of the day. I wasn't sure he was supposed to be doing that at work, but I figured it was worth the risk.

_what section of the store are you in?_

_authors who've slept together and ended up dead or in prison _

_lol good section?_

_an interesting one_

_did they write about sleeping together?_

_does sexting count as sex?_

_lol does that section turn you on?_

_doesn't everything?_

_well we've already done oral in the closet there, you could try jerking off in that section. if you get caught, i had nothing to do with it._

_but you were encouraging_

_i suggested—totally different_

_i'll just think about you naked the rest of the afternoon instead_

_play your cards right, maybe you'll get lucky_

_how do i play the cards right? show up at the apartment naked?_

_might improve your chances_

_done_

_call me when you're leaving or if you need bail money for exposing yourself in public_

_i will. i'm putting the phone in my pocket now—feel free to keep texting—i have it on vibrate_

_i'll keep you guessing. don't get fired._

~ooOoo~

"I'm calling to tell you I'm leaving The Strand—as I was instructed to do."

I laughed. "Ok. Thanks for telling me. You should come straight home, too. No distracted stopping."

He snorted. "Yes, ma'am."

"See you in a while."

"Bye."

The second I hung up I yelled to Aidan, "He's on his way! Get shit ready!"

It was funny—Aidan was a really lazy person until you gave him a job and you were pressed for time. Then suddenly, he was a ball of activity, helping me set the table and take food out. He was actually pretty awesome if he wanted to be. He just preferred being a dick, I think.

I left a note taped to the door for him: _Get a beer and meet me on the roof. Aidan's with me—don't get naked._ I didn't notice until later that Aidan had added his own note under mine. _Or get naked—I have a camera—blackmail material for years! _

There were no streamers, no banners, no lights off, or a screamed _Surprise! _Just Aidan and I, on the roof, sitting on plastic lawn chairs and trying to keep the food warm. And one rainbow-colored balloon weighted down by a fifth of vodka. He sort of trudged out of the door. He looked tired. And slowed his walk for a few seconds when he saw the balloon, but picked the pace back up when he realized it was only Aidan and me.

"Aidan did that," I said, pointing to the balloon, smiling at him as I got up and hugged him. He set his beer on the table and pulled me close, burying his head in my neck. "Happy Birthday," I said quietly, one hand rubbing his back and the other cupping his head.

"Thank you."

"Thought I forgot, huh?"

He chuckled, pulling back. "Woulda been fine."

"No, it wouldn't have been," Aidan announced, stepping around the table to pull him into his own hug. "Happy Birthday, man. I expect you to share the vodka."

He laughed and shoved Aidan away. "Fuck you. The vodka stays here."

"Sit down," I said. "We should eat before it gets cold."

He recognized the dinner the minute we sat down, and looked over at me. I knew the second his eyes met mine that he didn't think it was stupid at all, and I was incredibly proud of myself. He seemed much less sad already and I knew this was totally a better plan than throwing him into a room full of loud, drunk people.

I thought dinner went great; and worked even better than I planned. Tyler really seemed to relax, and he was smiling and laughing and it felt good; it felt good to see him happy. Especially when the day had been hard for him.

He laughed at the pie, but was more than happy it wasn't cake, and was also really happy when I only stuck two candles in it. Aidan made some huge speech about that being cheating but two for twenty-two worked in my kind of logic, and Tyler was just happy he only had to blow out two candles.

I hadn't seen him this happy and open in weeks. Probably not since my freak out that night. And it was really great that I had something to do with his happiness here.

We just finished pie when his phone rang. And his relatively good mood disappeared instantly.

He pushed away from the table and truthfully, there wasn't a lot coming from Tyler's end. He spoke in clipped sentences and the tension in his voice was really noticeable. His voice went up in volume once, and then just went to one word answers. There was only one person who could make him that way that quickly. The whole conversation couldn't have been more than two minutes. But it was a fucking shitty two minutes.

He stayed standing away from us for a minute when the call ended and Aidan and I exchanged glances as we tried to figure out what we should do. He turned before we could come up with anything and walked back to the table.

"Well, I could use a drink," he said, tossing his phone on the table and sitting back in the chair heavily.

Neither Aidan nor I said anything.

"Have a drink with me," he said, passing the bottle to me.

"I really don't want a drink, Tyler."

"Yeah, well, it's my fucking birthday, and I want everyone to have a drink with me. Is that too much to ask? One drink?"

I raised an eyebrow at him but he just stared back at me, his eyes cold and angry. I splashed some vodka in my glass and slammed the bottle down for Aidan. Aidan didn't need to be told twice to have a drink. He just poured. "What should we drink to?" he asked, trying to salvage things.

"Oh, I think we should drink to Charles Hawkins, father of the year," Tyler said bitterly, slamming his back without waiting for us. It was sort of amazing really, how much power his father had over him—even though Tyler would insist that it wasn't true. But he let him have it—he handed it to him every time he let him affect him this way. Maybe telling him that would make him punch in. Tonight though, it'd probably just make him worse.

Aidan cut his eyes to me, raising his eyebrows. "Yeah, and friendship would be good to drink to."

Tyler poured more vodka in his glass. "Sure, I'll drink to that." He turned to look at me. I hadn't touched my glass yet. "What do you want to drink to?"

I had several things I wanted to say to that. _Pricks that won't let the past go. Boyfriends that are moody motherfuckers. _Most were insensitive, and I tried to remind myself that he was having a hard time today and his father calling hadn't helped that any. If only he'd called before we started having a good time. "I'd like to drink to you coming downstairs with me."

"What are we gonna do downstairs?"

"Whatever you want. But the vodka stays here. I don't want to party with Tyler and vodka." So there he had his choice: company or himself and the alcohol. Aidan would probably have stayed with him and alcohol, so it was more girlfriend company or Aidan and alcohol.

He watched me, like this was some kind of contest, so I tipped my glass back and put it back on the table. "If you're coming downstairs, can you clean up, Aidan?"

"What?" Aidan shook his head, looking at me but gesturing at Tyler. "I told you we should have just got him wasted! He was happy drinking. And that's it? That's the end of the party? What a jip! And I'm stuck cleaning up!?"

I threw Aidan a dirty look and he sighed, waving at me. "Yeah, fine, I'll clean up." He kept muttering to himself, but ultimately he was a good guy—and he'd do what was needed.

I nodded and looked back at Tyler. "I'll be downstairs." Then I turned around and walked away. And I think I realized that sometimes with Tyler, he was too hot-headed to reason with. Some long conversation about shit wasn't going to get us anywhere. But leaving the roof forced his choice; it forced the reason.

So I wasn't exactly surprised when a few minutes later, he came into the bedroom. I had already changed into pajamas, and I was sitting on the bed. I left his gift on his pillow, and he didn't see it right away.

He shifted from foot to foot for a minute before walking to the dresser and pulling out a well-worn T-shirt. The shirt he was wearing went over his head, and I'd be lying if I said my eyes weren't glued to him, watching. We hadn't changed in front of each other at all since that night. I hadn't seen more of him than bare arms and legs. He had his back to me, not because he was trying to hide from me, but because he was just facing the other way. His hair was messy from taking the other shirt off, and I had a few seconds before the other shirt went on to watch all the muscles in his back move, and fuck, I mean, he was amazingly perfect. It was probably kind of odd to enjoy watching him just move so his shoulder blades stood out like that, and it was over way too quickly. He stuffed the other shirt over his head before I could appreciate any of the front, and I felt kinda cheated. Then I realized how ridiculous it was to feel that way when I was the one insisting that I couldn't handle anything related to sex. He went into the bathroom to change into shorts, and I felt guilty wanting to ask him to do that in the bedroom, too.

Ugh.

When he came out again, he chucked his jeans in the direction of the closet and was about to sit down next to me when he finally noticed the little box. His eyes darted to me. "That for me?"

"Must be," I said, shrugging.

His mouth twisted into a grin that he was trying to hide and he picked the box up carefully before plopping down next to me much less carefully. He put the box up to his ear and shook it, and I snorted. He smiled wider. "Thank you."

I shrugged again. "Might not want to thank me until you open it."

I was suddenly very nervous when he started tearing the paper. I had all day to prepare myself for this moment, and I sort of ignored the nervousness until now. I tried to stop myself from bouncing my leg or twitching my foot, and wound up chewing on the outsides of my nails as he got closer to the inside. Half of me wanted to see his reaction, the other half wanted to rip the box from his hands and tell him I gave him the wrong present and then fumble until I found something else or made up an excuse.

I just sat there instead, with my stomach turning over and over, until the fucking box was open and inside was a ring box. I hadn't noticed him put the fucking thing in a ring box! Oh my _fucking_ God. I wanted to hide under the pillows and never come out. I mean, _obviously_, rings came in ring boxes, but it fucking looked like I was proposing or some shit.

His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced at me, but he must have noticed the intense look of panic and terror, and he didn't make the jokes that were just basically asking to be made. Instead, he just opened the box, the spring inside making that little cracking noise that they all seem to have.

I did have to give the pawn guy some credit—the box was black and the ring was silver, and it looked really good sitting in that dark little piece of material.

And before he could even get a word out, I was blabbing like my life depended on it. "The dude I bought it from said it's Celtic. It's a griffin and a dragon—and they're supposed to stand for fire and water, and the griffin's the guy symbol and the dragon the girl, but I think that's kinda fucked up cause why would a dragon be a girl, but anyway—the knots are all together and mean connection in life. And the griffin is, like, part bird and part lion and is a balance between good and bad—so it's strong and protective but can also be angry and unstable…" I realized after that part that I really didn't want him to think that I thought he was unstable, which is probably exactly what he was thinking, so I just kept blurting. "Not that I think you're unstable… It was just… When he was explaining, it was more like both sides and you're actually really stable. You're, like, the most stable person I've ever been around, and I just thought it fit you, and us, and it just looked cool, too, and the guy said that Celtic shit is really popular now and rings aren't just a thing for girls anymore, and…" I took a deep breath, trying to calm the fuck down. "I just wanted you to have something that…" I was failing at this miserably and sort of just wanted to run to the bathroom and lock myself in so I could sob in the shower because that the lamest and stupidest explanation for a gift, ever. "It's stupid—we can go and get something else, take it back and—"

He interrupted me, "It's perfect."

I blinked and finally looked over at him. "What? Really? I mean, what?"

He smiled softly. "It's not stupid. At all. It's perfect." He sighed. "God, I feel like an even bigger asshole now."

"What? Why do you feel like an asshole?" Had I missed something?

He shook his head. "On the roof."

_Oh_. That. I was so wrapped up in my completely stupid and insane speech, I kind of forgot about that.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I waved him off. "Don't worry about it. I know with your dad…" I sort or broke off because I really didn't know how to finish that—I mean, I knew he didn't get along with his dad, and I knew he blamed him for a lot of things, but I wasn't ever sure how to really explain it all. Probably because he could never really explain it all either.

"No, I should have just blown him off. We were having a good time, and it was the only time today where I wasn't…" He sighed. "Where I was actually happy to be having a birthday. And I blew it." He turned to me. "I'm a moron. Do you forgive me?"

I smiled softly. "I'll give you a birthday pass."

He nodded. "Thanks."

"Oh, shit," I said suddenly.

"What?"

"Fuck. I didn't think about what size you wore. I hope it fits. Otherwise we'll have to get it sized I guess. I wasn't really planning on… I mean, I didn't know what I was gonna get you, so I didn't think to ask, so—"

He stopped me again. "It fits fine, see?" He held up his hand, and sure enough, it was just sitting there on his finger. Something I gave him was on his finger. A ring I gave him was on his finger. Like he belonged to me, and everyone could fucking see it.

My stomach had gone from nervous to completely filled with butterflies.

He leaned over and took my face in both of his hands, the right one now leaving a strip of cool from the metal that made me shiver. "Thank you." He kissed me gently, my eyes slipping closed before his lips met mine.

I breathed out, "You're welcome." When his hands dropped and his forehead rested against mine instead, I wanted to reach out and put the hand back on my face, the difference in feel and warmth—I wanted to memorize it. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else you wanted for your birthday? Or something you want to do?"

He shook his head. "No, I think this pretty much caps it. Don't think anything could top your present."

I smiled shyly. "It wasn't that good, Tyler."

"It is. Trust me, it is. I couldn't think of anything to put on top of it that would make today better. I just wanna be with you the rest of tonight. That'll make the rest of the day that sucked feel less significant."

"Ok," I agreed, nodding. "You wanna talk about what sucked?"

"Not really. Not right now."

I nodded again. "K." I looked over at the nightstand and grabbed the book he'd gotten me. "Wanna read?" Technically, that was probably more of a present for me, but if he was willing, I was able to accept that.

He nodded, smiling. "Sure," and took the book when I held it out.

"You want anything before we start, birthday boy?"

His eyebrow rose. "What, like, you'd fetch it for me and do my bidding?"

I snorted, covering his face with my hand. "Exactly, yes."

He laughed and ducked out from under my hand. "Does having a beer count as partying with me and alcohol?"

I smirked. "No."

"I'll have a beer then."

I got up and he watched me walk around the bed. "What?" I asked.

"Just appreciating the view."

I rolled my eyes at him, but as I'd just done that same thing when he was changing, I couldn't really say anything.

When I handed him the beer, he grabbed my hand and kept holding it as he put the bottle on the nightstand. "Sit with me."

"Thought I was…"

He shook his head. "_With_ me."

Which is how I wound up sitting in front of him, my back to his chest, my…everything wrapped in his larger frame. I forgot how much I liked that feeling—the safety of it.

"Now you see the pictures," he explained, "follow along."

I giggled. "Good excuse."

"I thought so. Came up with that all by myself while you were getting the beer."

I snuggled back, elbowing him a little to get comfy, and he chuckled at my wiggling. "Almost ready?"

I elbowed him harder on purpose and he jumped. "Almost."

He only really did this for me one other time, and now, it seemed like a really long time ago, even though it wasn't. I forgot how much I liked it the first time and how amazing it was to feel him surrounding me while his voice washed over me. The tone and volume were quieter. He was obviously born to read shit. I didn't know the terms, but no one had ever made reading out loud that fucking sexy before. It was hard to listen to the actual story, and not imagine him talking that way while doing other shit. My reading was always choppy and full of stumbling, but the words just rolled off his tongue.

What else I loved was that he hadn't bought a new book. He worked in a fucking book store; he could have just went to the kid's section and grabbed the latest paperback, all updated with new pictures and unbroken binding. Instead he bought a used version, hardcover, worn at the corners, older but with the coolest fucking cover, ever. It was a greenish color, with lettering that was old and fancy. Alice was on the cover, the white rabbit behind her, cards flying at her. The only colors were black, white and red. It was so much cooler than new, and I loved the idea that so many people before us had read the book, and now it was mine.

He read titles and authors and chapter titles and stopped to look at pictures, and was generally awesome. I wondered if he did this with his sister, and reminded myself to ask him later. Maybe that was how he'd gotten so good at it.

"_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, _by Lewis Carroll." There was a picture before the book started; of the Queen on her throne with the king next to her, looking her usual pissed off self, glaring down at her subjects. I didn't really remember that part from the movie, but I guessed the book was going to be a little different. Tyler held the book open in both hands, waiting until I looked it over before he started again. "_Chapter One: Down the Rabbit Hole. Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank and of having nothing to do; once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversation?'_"

I giggled. "My question exactly!"

He laughed. "Some of them get quite tedious, yes."

"I'm glad this one has pictures."

He hummed and nuzzled his cheek into my temple. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and the scruffiness both tickled and made me shiver. He was doing that a lot today. "_So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her. There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she out to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket and looked at it and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge._"

He stopped so we could look at the picture next to that section. The White Rabbit was pictured, looking at a pocket watch. The pictures were really amazing. "That Jefferson Airplane song is based on Alice, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Only with way more drugs, of course."

"Right. That part is soon though. I'm guessing Lewis Carroll wasn't writing for the LSD-crowd when he wrote about potions and cakes."

"Funny though, how that turned out."

"Yeah it is."

This definitely had to be something he was used to. I really hadn't meant to interrupt the story, but shit kinda popped in my head, and then out it came. And he just carried on talking with me in the middle of it like it was no big deal. I remembered foster parents and placement centers not liking questions or talking at all, much less if it was a rare occasion there was a story being read.

As he started again, I was hit with this feeling of happiness. Not that I wasn't usually happy with Tyler, but I couldn't have picked someone who seemed to understand or accept me better or more. He never made me feel stupid, he answered questions he could, he didn't think what we talked about was stupid or lame, or if he did, he was nice enough not to tell me and just go along like it was normal. He made me feel normal. He didn't get mad at me easily, and he treated me like you always heard you were supposed to be treated. He made me feel… I think what I was feeling was cared for. Warm. Safe. Protected. Cared _about_. He was all of those things. His head was bent forward, his mouth near my ear. "_In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again. The rabbit-hold went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and wonder what was going—"_

Was just about when I couldn't stop myself and started nibbling his jaw. I mean, it was right there, just asking for it. He broke off reading suddenly when I started, and I don't think he really knew what he was supposed to do. I nibbled until I couldn't reach any farther and then stopped.

"_going to happen next. First, she tried to look—" _ He stopped again when I kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Keep reading."

His breath was shaky and he tried to take a calming breath. "…_tried to look down and make_… oh, fuck."

He tipped his head away for me to get better access as I started lapping at his neck, over the roughness of the stubble there, the saltiness of his skin. I chuckled, puffing air over his neck. "I don't think that's in the book, Tyler."

"It is now."

I craned to suck on his Adam's apple when he swallowed, and he moaned after, one hand leaving the book and landing on my thigh, tracing up until his thumb fit in the space where my leg met my hip. He traced back and forth there while I moved up his neck to his chin before he dipped his head so that I could reach his mouth. He was going in for a kiss, but his eyes were already squeezed shut and instead of kissing him, I started sucking on his bottom lip instead. His hand jerked and started moving, looking for something to hold onto or knead, but there wasn't really anything for him to do that with. Or not anything he was going to be kneading without asking first. I actually didn't really know what the hell I was doing. I mean, I obviously _knew_ what I was doing, and my head wasn't starting to freak out, so for once it seemed to agree with my body. But I didn't know really what to tell him so he knew it was ok. His body was tense immediately, no longer just relaxed and comfy for me to rest against. Everything had changed the second I started, because I could tell he was holding back, fighting with himself because he didn't know how long I was going to last before I freaked out and pushed him away again. What a shitty birthday that would have been.

I think he was fighting to not react as much to me, too. He kept breathing deeply through his nose, trying to keep himself under control, even through the soft moans. He seemed really sensitive, too—which made total sense, I hadn't kissed him or done anything like this in long enough that he'd be that way.

His head kept dipping lower until his chin was almost resting on my shoulder, and that couldn't have been comfortable at all, but it allowed me to nip at his ear, and for some reason, I think that kinda did him in. His moan was damn near painful, and the book hit the floor with a thud. His head slammed back and I'm pretty sure he smacked it against the wall. I couldn't figure out where his hand that was near my hip went until I glanced down and saw that he wedged them under his thighs, like forcing them there would mean he wouldn't touch me or something. I kinda smirked, because it was sort of like telling a kid to sit on their hands.

I realized he did it though because I pushed him far enough that his cock was pressing into me, and he was trying really hard not to freak me out. I had my hands linked and resting on my stomach when he was reading, my elbows out and resting on his thighs, but I let them start wandering, too, trying to tell him that I was ok with what we were doing. I fanned out my fingers as I ran them down his thighs, and it was like every muscle in his legs jumped at the touch. The more he reacted, the worse I felt cause we'd been pretty fucking hot and heavy and while I was fine just turning it off because my fucked up psyche was demanding it, this had to have really sucked for him, to go from nearly everything to barely nothing.

I shifted, grinding into him a little; the material of the boxers against his boxers might as well have been missing—both barriers were ridiculously thin cotton and I could feel every inch of him straining against me.

His head was against the wall again, his neck tense and tight, his eyes were shut just as tightly and when I moved again, his whole body jerked and shuddered behind me. "Jesus, fuck," tumbled out, sounding as clenched and tight as his body was.

I felt warm everywhere. And he hadn't even fucking touched me yet. Part of it was just being so close to him, and the heat he was putting off because he was both turned on and incredibly tense trying to keep himself under control, but the other part was just me. I hadn't felt that way since that night, not like this. The warmth of being in his arms, the feeling of being cared for, it was just a lot of fucking warmth. And I wanted him to touch me really fucking badly.

Was that fair? I wondered. To ask him to touch me suddenly now when I was so distant and pushed him away so much? I mean, where did we start really, if not here, but I just felt kinda bad.

"Tyler…" I breathed.

"What?" God, his voice was completely fucked, deeper and almost hoarse.

"Please…"

"Please, what?"

His voice was so strained, so edgy; he wasn't teasing me; he wasn't trying to drag this out. I think he wanted me to tell him it was ok. To actually come out and say that I wanted it, or he wasn't going to be able to. And had he not already had my respect, I think that right there would have sealed the deal for me.

"Please touch me."

I think he'd been holding his breath. Along with everything else. But once I said it was ok, and that I wanted it, his hands were kneading at my sides and mothefucking quickly on their way to my tits. Those three simple words also must have given his mouth permission, because the second his hands were moving, his mouth was nipping at my neck, and the nipping turned into sucking, and I was gonna have so many fucking hickies tomorrow, I wasn't sure how that would go over at work, and I didn't fucking care.

He wasn't rough at all, but he was sure fucking eager, and it just made me grind and rub against his cock more. His hands on my tits, even over the T-shirt I was wearing, were amazing. I missed so much of feeling him this way, of what he could do to me, how quickly he could make me wet, and how much I loved when he massaged my tits.

On the other hand, I kept having this nagging thought that he was still holding back. I mean, not that I was complaining, but we were stalled at like second fucking base here. I wasn't even sure over the clothes could be considered second base. I wasn't even sure I ever knew what the fuck those stupid teenage bases were, because no one I ever dealt with really had much need for fumbling introductions and awkward beginnings. They weren't there to make me feel comfortable—if they wanted to touch a tit that was usually what they did—as long as it was paid for.

He didn't want to be holding back; I could tell. He was breathing heavily, panting in my ear while he pushed his hips up into me while keeping up the kneading. I was quiet as long as possible, and then breathed out, "Tyler, under the shirt. Please?"

And just like before, the minute I said it was ok, his hand was there, fingers crawling under the material of my shirt and then finally, his hands were on my tits with no barrier. He kneaded both for a while, taking his time, but there was an edge to it as he started flicking his thumbs over my nipples. His hands felt so amazing; I could never figure out how he could make this feel so intense and gentle at the same time. He trailed his left hand down to my stomach while rolling my nipple with the other, and I realized the hand on my stomach was to help guide and pull me back into him while he rolled his hips. It wasn't like I needed more encouragement, and I just kept grinding back while he pushed up and forward.

And, fuck, I needed his fingers inside me. I didn't waste time waiting for that—I just grabbed the hand on my stomach and started moving it where I wanted it. I moved us together under the waistband of my shorts, pushing his hand closer to my opening. "Inside, Tyler. Please."

I didn't move my hand right away, I dunno why; maybe I wanted to make sure he kept going. I let go when two of his fingers touched the wetness there, and threw my legs over his, spreading wide so he could have easier access. I think the only thing louder than my moan at that first feeling of his fingers was his own. It was right in my ear, and I pressed onto his fingers immediately while still managing to shove back on him.

As his fingers curled, I really didn't know how he was focusing on me with all of the friction I was grinding into his cock. Maybe he was scared of losing the focus, too, because his other hand moved from rolling my nipple to fighting with the waistband to join his other.

I knew the second he rubbed over my clit this was going to be a really fucking fast orgasm. But I also knew it was going to be a really fucking intense one, too. It had felt like this was so unreachable just yesterday, and I didn't really know what had changed. But as he started to rub back and forth on a spot above my clit, I didn't really give a shit. The pressure built so fucking fast, until it was too much, and then I was gone, shuddering as I came all over his fingers.

I don't think I was ever that loud before. Even when I was faking it with assholes that got off on that shit.

It felt like there was too much air and not enough all at once. His fingers were still lingering in me, playing in the wetness, but I could feel him still hard behind me. I shifted from my slumped position and pressed more directly onto his cock again. He groaned and moved his hands out, licking me off of his fingers, and Jesus Fucking Christ, he needed to come. Guys that awesome needed to come. And I was proud of myself because I hadn't once even thought about freaking out. I wanted this.

"Tyler?"

"Mmm?"

"I want you to come, too."

"I'm good."

"No," I said quickly. "I want you to come. What do you want?"

He chuckled lightly. "It's ok."

I twisted so I could glare at him, curling my legs under me, and then leaned forward into him, both hands going to his chest. "It's not. And I'm ok with this. I want this. I want you to come." He watched me, his eyes not leaving mine, but I didn't hesitate. "What do you want? Handjob? Blowjob?"

He moved a stray lock of hair out of my face, tracing behind my ear and all the way down my jaw with the pads of his fingers. "And you're ready for that?"

"Yes."

"You're sure."

He didn't say that like a question, more like a confirmation. I nodded. "Yes."

There was silence for a few seconds again. "This isn't because of my birthday, is it?"

I shook my head. "Well, I mean, sure, I want you to come for your birthday, but no, it's not just about that. It would really fucking suck if you didn't get to come though, after all that, and it was your birthday."

"I don't want it to be because of that if you're not ready."

"I'm ready."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You have to tell me if you feel like you're getting freaked out. And tell me to stop."

"I will, but that's not going to happen. So what do you want? Birthday blowjob?"

I think he was considering his options. His head tipped back to rest against the wall as he decided. "Rubbing against you felt nice."

"You want me to keep doing that?"

He shook his head.

"Then what?"

"I'd be on top."

"Oh." I shrugged. "Well go ahead. Where do you want me?"

His eyebrows rose and I smirked.

"You're totally sure?"

I nodded. "I'm sure."

"'Cause you can be on top—it'll work that way, too."

"No," I shook my head. "Whatever you want. That's what I want." Actually, I was kinda surprised he didn't go for the blowjob. And I'd be lying if I said I was kinda hoping he was gonna say that because I really wanted to.

We sort of sat there for a minute, and I'm not sure what he was waiting for. I already said it was good, and there wasn't really anything else to talk about. So, since it seemed I had to make every first move here, which was just…different—it wasn't like I didn't make first moves with him before, but a lot of time it seemed like we got there together, or we started together, and with all the shit that happened, it was really clear that at least for the first things we were going to start now, he was not going to be doing anything unless I went first.

So I basically just backed up and sat on my knees, looking at him impatiently, eyebrows raised, trying to send the message that he should just fucking start doing shit because there wasn't going to be any more this. Like, hello, here I was all fucking raring to go and no one to rub against because he was being all skittish or whatever. It wasn't even skittish; it was just… annoying, and non-action-y.

He smirked and moved for-fucking-finally, and we did that really awesome dance on the bed where you're basically walking on your knees trying to get around each other because I needed to be where he was and he needed to be where I was, and doing that while getting all hands-y (again—for-fucking-finally) and kissing at the same time was some difficult shit. I pretty much wound up just falling back and hoping the pillow was close; and he didn't seem to care much if we were near pillows as long as I was on my back.

And I started laughing; I couldn't help it. Because positions were awkward, no matter how smooth you were trying to be, and if we couldn't laugh at ourselves, we didn't have a prayer. He chuckled, too, and I loved the way his smile always lightened his face when he was trying to be _so _serious. And I know a lot of times; it was because he was trying to be something for me. Maybe that was why a lot of these at the start seemed to make me laugh—I wanted him to be lighter, that I knew he was trying, and he could go easier on himself because we were fine and everything was cool.

He dipped to kiss me, half between my legs and half straddling one of my legs, his hands were all awkwardly placed and he couldn't possibly hold himself up that way, but it didn't matter. The _Twister_ moves were sort of half the fun, too. I linked my hands behind his neck and kept him there in that really awkward position anyway, because I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted him to be comfortable. And he didn't seem to have any complaints, if his tongue in my mouth was any kind of clue. He managed to get both legs between mine with some maneuvering, and I only let go of his neck to start yanking on the bottom of his T-shirt.

Thankfully, he only hesitated a minute, and let me haul it up and rip it off of his head all inside out. My hands were on his chest right away, my fingertips tracing his collarbone and remembering all the things I loved about him shirtless. I missed this, too. And I wanted him to know that. I wanted him to know that just because my mind hadn't wanted it, I wanted him. That was the end of the fucking story. I wanted him just as much as he wanted me, and I missed him this way just as much, too. He couldn't decide if he wanted to hang his head or snap it backwards when my thumbs rolled over his nipples, and my fingers fanned out over his ribs and sides, thumbs moving to run over his abs. He shuddered, biting his lip, when I skimmed over his stomach, the muscles there jumping under my fingers.

I realized that I wasn't sure I'd ever actually done this before. I mean, the idea was the same as regular sex, I figured. He could rub and thrust and do whatever the fuck he wanted; he just wasn't inside to do it. So I opened my legs wider, hiking them up by his hips, and his hands shot out to hold them up, hooking them in the crooks of his elbows as he lowered himself to me.

The boy was really hard. And probably had been. Since, like, forever. His cock was pressed between us and he shifted until he was pressed right over my clit. And fucking A. "This was supposed to be for you," I pointed out.

He shrugged and lowered some more, my legs might as well have been over his shoulders. Good thing strippers were flexible. Also, no complaints. And really—this was sort of perfect when I thought about it. What better way to get someone used to the motions of sex, no matter how fucking ridiculous that sounded because I'd been a fucking hooker, but this, which was basically sex without the sex. Because the connection was still there, the feelings were still there; it was just less intense and not as likely to freak out the gun-shy.

"Why can't I get you off, too?" He asked. "What's the difference if I get off?"

I thought about that a second and couldn't really see why I'd even asked. "Yeah, ok."

He nodded, like he was fucking proud of that, and I let him have it because it was his birthday.

And then he started moving and I really didn't give a fuck about anything. Because he wasn't actually moving his cock at all; he was rolling his hips, but it made his cock rub over my clit and if he rolled high enough, I couldn't hold in the noises that just kept tumbling out. He was also really lucky I didn't have long nails, because I couldn't seem to stop raking them over his back either. And he kept grunting and panting and the sounds just did something to make it even better, and it was just all fucking too much, and insane because I came only a little while ago, and this was already setting up to be a better orgasm.

The friction—holy fucking shit. I couldn't believe that we never tried this before. Why the fuck hadn't he tried this before?! And obviously, he felt the same way because I didn't think he was even gonna last beyond the first few strokes.

The only thing I could say, because I also knew he was fucking holding off until I got off, too, was that this orgasm could quite possibly kill him from the force and the buildup, and all the pent up everything—and we were probably gonna need new sheets. It was useless to tell him to just get off, or to tell him he didn't need to wait for me, because he was just fucking gonna anyway. So instead, I made him let go of my legs and hooked them around him instead, and he totally stumbled with the strokes and the rubbing because it made it that much hotter, closer, and more intense and my orgasm sparked immediately.

And then he finally let go, and basically crash-landed into me; like the force of coming just knocked the fight out of him. Tyler Hawkins, down for the count. I shifted my legs down, but still kept them curled around him, and managed to free my hands out from where they were trapped when he collapsed on me.

And then I just held him. His head was somewhere next to mine, half on my shoulder, half on the pillow and he was breathing hot air into my neck. He groaned and shifted against me when I started running my fingers up and down his back, and I could feel the little tremors that were traveling through his whole body, his cock still pulsing with aftershocks.

He finally groaned once more and snuffled into my neck, "Ya gotta stop that. I'm too sensitive."

I snorted and rested the hand on his back instead, tempted to just keep doing it, but he asked, so I stopped.

His breathing evened out with the rest of his body, his heart not hammering against my chest anymore, and I thought he'd fallen asleep. "You sleepin'?"

He hummed quietly, and it took him a minute to answer. "I can't decide if I'm really wired and hyper now or really exhausted. I think both. I feel hyper. Like humming. My whole body is humming. But I think that's just the orgasm. Or the stroke I'm having. So, I'm gonna stick with the exhausted and just pass out, here, K?"

I laughed quietly. "Yeah, ok."

"Am I too heavy? You want me to move?"

"You're good."

"K."

"Sweet dreams."

"Best fucking ever."

I chuckled and pressed a kiss to his ear, which was the only thing I could reach from this spot. Then I couldn't resist and blew air gently in his ear, too. He jerked back; not a lot, but enough that he was looking at me. I smiled, completely guiltily, and he just gave me this lazy grin back before he dropped his head.

"Night, Allison."

"Night."

Neither of us bothered to get up to get any of the lights. And he was out quickly. Or at least I thought he was.

"Hey, Allison?" he said quietly a while later.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

I squeezed him. "You're welcome. Thank you, too."

He sighed. "This was, like, the best birthday, ever."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Totally. Way better than the dinosaur party I had when I was eight."

I laughed loudly, almost shoving him off of me. "I'm glad."

"Yeah, who knew dry humping would top the T-Rex one day?"

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	27. Chapter 27

******************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven **

**TPOV**

She made me pancakes for breakfast.

But technically, that was the second thing I ate that morning.

I woke up still half-sprawled on top of her, sporting morning wood like… Well, really there was nothing that it could be likened to; suffice it to say I was really fucking hard.

And I don't know if it'd been the lack of anything sexual coupled with the grinding of all time the previous night, but all I wanted to do was taste her. So my cock and I really hoped that last night had not been a complete fluke or something strictly birthday related.

I debated for all of about five seconds just starting and waking her up that way, but that would have involved removing clothing and I didn't want to rip her out of sleep and freak her out. I was treading very lightly here, and I wouldn't fuck it up.

So with that option eliminated, I admit a slight selfish indulgence in grinding my morning wood into her thigh before I carefully moved over her instead, and basically shoved my tongue in her mouth.

I think her first reaction was to bite, so I quickly switched to lighter kisses and moved from her mouth down her jaw and neck, and back until I was licking the outer shell of her ear, tickling her with the sensation.

I was really fucking happy that she didn't immediately try to kick me, or fight me off—that meant serious trust and comfort leaps. Instead I think my dick was just gonna hammer its way through the mattress because she moaned sleepily, and her hands flailed out, landing sloppily on me as she turned her head into the kisses.

Her hands became much more adept as she woke, skimming down my chest with her nails and playing with the waistband of my shorts. If she'd noticed or felt me grinding into her thigh, she hadn't let on at all, but that was definitely where her hands were traveling. If she got anywhere near me right now, I wouldn't last _at all_, but I selfishly waited until she stroked me through the material a few times before I stopped her.

The moan I let out into her ear was met with another one of her own, and I forced myself back to my original intent. "Fuck. Allison, I really want to taste you." I didn't really ask; it was more of a statement, and I suppose it was my way of letting her out of it without turning me down if she wasn't there yet.

I was blissfully happy when she responded with much nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, you should."

I snorted, holding in the outward expression of the victory march playing in my head.

I think I surprised her with how quickly I moved, because she was chuckling at me, and her hands stayed mid-air like she hadn't noticed I was gone right away.

She glanced down at me when I was between her legs, and I made eye contact, "Can I take them off?" I asked; nodding to the boxers she was wearing. Mine, of course. Not that I thought that was the fucking sexiest thing ever or anything.

"Yeah, definitely."

Well, this was going really well—way better than I imagined. If my need to have my mouth on her ever abated, I really needed to ask what had happened. I tried to be patient with the removal, but wasn't really successful.

She chuckled at me some more but pretty much lost that altogether when I dropped to the bed the next second and was sucking on her clit.

Her hand landed heavily in my hair and she tugged harshly. "Fucking hell."

I eased off a bit, licking her instead, and her hand loosened to a lighter grip.

I didn't really want to waste any time after that, and if I watched her face, I didn't think I'd last long enough to really finish her because this position allowed for me to rub against the bed and yeah, needed to focus. I dipped lower, trying to take my time, but I think I was pretty damn sloppy with it. And it wasn't like she tasted any different, but it seemed ten times better than I could remember. Absence and fondness and all that.

I realized as I pushed my tongue into her that feeling her writhing and pushing back against my mouth, and feeling that hand in my hair—I don't think I ever so thoroughly enjoyed going down on a girl before. Sometimes in past relationships it was actually annoying or it was required in order to get something back, but I _liked_ doing it to Allison. I liked how her hand tightened when it felt really good. I liked how her eyes were squeezed shut and her head would jerk to the left and her hips would roll into me.

I curled my arms under her legs, half to give myself a better angle and half to keep her from bucking off the fucking bed. I never let my mouth move away from her opening, and only used my fingers on her clit or to spread her open more. I didn't want to lose the taste of her now that I'd gotten it back, and it was kind of addicting. Wetness just kept coming and I was more than happy to keep lapping it up.

It occurred to me that it'd probably been a month (or for fuck's sake, a little more than a month) since I'd actually been able to do this to her, and it felt like infinitely longer. So I forced myself to slow down, not really changing anything, but making it last longer for both of us, despite the raging hard-on that wasn't very happy with me. And I knew she missed this just as much as I did even if her mind wouldn't allow what her body wanted before.

I kept my thumb over her clit, rubbing in circles, and maybe the time span that had passed had made her more sensitive, too, because she was shifting like it was too much stimulation. I switched to something lighter, less rubbing instead, stroking downwards over her clit and then upwards. If I thought about it, she never really got off on overzealous rubbing anyway. Slow and steady or at least a consistent pace got her there faster.

I still stubbornly refused to move my mouth away from her wetness because I was quite happy there, but I pulled back long enough to say, "Show me what you want."

I wasn't exactly sure how that would go over, but as her hand moved right away, she either didn't care or embarrassment wasn't tied to doing it right now.

So win-win.

I took mental notes like a madman—in fact, I think I might have plotted an entire diagram and possibly a flow chart.

It was completely fascinating, distracting, and unbelievably arousing to watch her touch herself. She left me and my mouth to the rest, but her fingers were extremely consistent (_two points for Tyler knowing that!_). They also moved in a way completely different to what I normally did to her and that was by far the biggest note to self: it was infinitely better to just ask. Also, re: bonus—sexy as fuck. I wasn't even sure I could accomplish that from this angle but now that I'd seen it, I really wanted to try.

"Can I?"

She nodded, her eyes hooded, her breathing erratic, and arched right into my hand, her pussy pushing against my mouth, and Jesus Fuck; they should put that move in the handbook. Full stop.

This would have been much easier in a position like we'd been in the previous night, but she didn't seem to be complaining, or missing out on anything. And it really didn't take long after that—her body started to freeze and her muscles tensed, everything locked up and pushed forward into me. I loved this part—the second when her body went all tense and motionless like the moment before a rubber band snapped after being stretched too tightly. Her back bowed and her mouth fell open on a soundless scream, her body shook and trembled while she bucked into me, her soundless scream ending on some sort of guttural noise of release.

She flopped back on the bed, all limp and pliable when it was over; her hair a mess of directions and her whole body flushed. I stayed between her legs, turning my head to kiss and nip her inner thigh lightly before moving back to her center, and pushing my tongue inside one more time. I licked a strip up to kiss her clit, her hips jerking up, a hiss-laced moan tumbling out. Too much stimulation again for the moment, so I just kept moving. I spent a rather significant amount of time around her stomach after pushing her shirt up out of the way; I have no idea why—it was just there, and extremely kissable. It begged for attention.

I hadn't bothered to wipe my mouth at all, so wherever I went, a trail of her wetness followed with me until her stomach was coated as much as my mouth was. Her hands landed on my head, and I loved the feeling of her fingers running though my hair. Partly, I'm sure it was because I was still fucking hard and any amount of touching of any kind carried prickling sensations all over my body, but I just liked how gently they settled in my hair, and how affectionate it felt. Appreciative. The content little sights she let out didn't hurt, either.

She tugged my hair to get my attention and smirked at me when I still didn't wipe my mouth, licking around my lips instead. "C'mere."

I moved until I was suspended over her again and she lifted up to meet me, shoving her tongue in my mouth just like I'd done to her. We stayed locked that way, tongues sliding against each other until I literally couldn't stand it anymore, and rested my forehead against hers, my cock seriously throbbing an angry rhythm from the disregard and repeated dismissal. I wasn't asking for reciprocation, but I was going to have to take care of that soon if I ever wanted to be hard again.

"Gimme your boxers," she said, nipping at my bottom lip.

I focused on her for a second, wondering what this was.

She shrugged. "You stole mine."

I chuckled and flopped down next to her on the bed to get them off, and handed them to her, sort of watching fascinatingly as she just threw them on. I mean, I'd spent the entire morning grinding pre-come into them and she just nonchalantly pulled them on. It was… I seriously needed to just go beat off in the shower. She couldn't just do that random and completely sexy shit and expect that I could just…take it. My brain couldn't function that way. I had a dick. They had demands. Sexy girlfriends that insisted on doing wholly sexy things meant there had to be plenty of beating off if other sexual outlets were stunted.

I sat up to try to find the boxers I'd taken off of her before when she pulled me back to lie next to her again. "It's not fair if I don't get to blow you, too."

I don't think I was capable of forming actual words for a minute. She had been rather suggestive with her options last night. A birthday blowjob had been at the top of the list. She just smiled at me, waiting for it to process. I shook my head though. "At this point, there's not gonna be much blow in that job. The minute your mouth is gonna be on me, I'm gone."

She propped herself on her elbow and reclined next to me, her hand skimming up and down the side of my chest. "You want me to slow you down? Make it last longer?"

I considered this, I really did. The prospect of her doing so would be nothing short of incredible; I was sure. I also really wanted to fucking come. And I hoped me saying no wouldn't be interpreted that I didn't want her to. "Honestly?"

"Obviously," she said, nodding.

"No. I really wanna come."

She nodded and moved about as fast as I had when I'd first woken her up and had the go-ahead. And literally, she had time to grip my shaft, her mouth enclosed over the head of my cock and the minute she started going down, her little hand pumping, I was fucking gone. And the orgasm was unbelievably awesome and almost downright painful by the end.

So to recap, I thoroughly satiated my need to taste her, she reciprocated in kind, I was in that drowsy state of post-orgasm warmth, in bed, with my girl all curled up with me, and not only was she wearing one of my old T-shirts, but the boxers she stole had me all over them. Was there shit better than that?

"I'm gonna make you breakfast," she announced, pushing off my chest.

Yep, shit got better. Oral plus breakfast!

"How about pancakes?"

"Jesus, is it still my birthday?"

"We're still celebrating, yeah."

"I must have been an awfully good boy this year."

She'd been at the door when I said that, and poked her head back in the room. "You were on the line really, but the oral pushed you over. That's why I got bacon for this morning, too."

"Oh, fuck, seriously?"

She chuckled, nodding. "I figured you'd like that."

I hummed happily in response.

"Take a nap while I make breakfast. I plan on you lasting longer after we eat."

Fuuuuck. She made me incredibly happy.

~ooOoo~

I had been convinced that my birthday would be nothing but a complete disaster. In fact, I'm sure in a lot of ways, I'd set it up that way. I didn't want it to be a good day; I set out to ensure I would not have a good day. I'd been moody for days before, and when I left for my mother's house that morning, I wasn't looking to have a good time. I just wanted to crawl back in bed with Allison and not come out again until the day had passed.

It's hard when you're the only one in a pissy mood, and everyone else is determined to be so cheery as fuck that you'll have the mood cheered right out of you. Especially when it's unsolicited and unwelcome. I didn't want a birthday party. I really didn't think there was anything to celebrate. Twenty-two is normally inconsequential. It's long after kid parties were cool, four years too late of eighteen and legal, and a year past of twenty-one and drunk. Most people just let twenty-two pass them by and I really wanted to be one of them. Except twenty-two for me meant an entirely different set of things: it was the year Michael never saw, the birthday he decided it was over, the birthday people in my family would always judge if you survived to—like, would Tyler make it past twenty-two? If I lasted the entire twenty-four hours, I'd be older than my brother ever would be. And that just felt incredibly wrong. It felt wrong to be without him, but being without him and being older than him was worse. It wasn't like I was trying to be melodramatic; we hadn't made some brotherly pact to both off ourselves at twenty-two. I wasn't a suicidal risk, but I'm sure other people, and my mother, definitely wondered about that.

My problem was why. The one question I couldn't answer. I logically knew that he didn't want to work for my father; that he wanted to play music and etch out an existence that he found more noble—transient and unglamorous—a different city every night, freedom of the road, sleeping in the van with the band, gig after gig after gig. But ending everything because you had to wear a suit and follow the old man around? I mean, I might have _joked_ that I'd kill myself before I'd ever work for him, but I wouldn't _actually _ do that. And it's not like Michael said anything—he didn't seem depressed. He never said anything to me about how disappointing it was to work for our father. Or how much it destroyed him. It was just a fucking job, and he was a much better and stronger person than that, than I was. Maybe I was just being insensitive or maybe I'd misjudged the length of his _passion_ for music. But a lot of people, most people, did not get to do for a living what they truly wanted. He could have done gigs at night and on weekends. It was senseless. And it made me, already lost and rebelling, just feel even less grounded, like I knew nothing about anything anymore. How could I? When I didn't even know my own brother? And maybe that was some of it, too—I'd always been the one to talk back, the one to confront the great Charles Hawkins and tell him to stick it. Michael rebelled very little. Or if he did, our father didn't even realize that's what it was. Even working for him—Michael had accepted the offer and that seemed the end of it. And I mean, our father wasn't exactly one to take no for an answer, but Michael hadn't…

… Hell, maybe suicide was his ultimate rebellion.

Really I don't think there would have been as much shock if it'd been me. Michael wasn't a saint, he wasn't the golden child, but it probably would have been easier for people to understand if it'd been me. Tyler, the fuck up.

I really tried on the way over to my mom's to force myself into a better mood. Because if I seemed moody and unhappy, crisis alarms were going to blare from her social-worker-heart. And then the need to fix was going to kick in, and it'd be an entirely more unpleasant time. I still wasn't very successful.

The door opened to smiling faces and hugs. Hugs felt… I don't know. I was in such a shit mood; I barely wanted to hug back. Les shook my hand in the customary way he always did, one hand pump only, and he smiled warmly. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks." There was a certain comfort to that handshake. Not because I saw him as a father figure, although he was probably more of a one to Caroline than our own real father, but just because I knew what to expect with him every time.

It was worse though because Caroline was excited.

She was right in that age where kid parties were still cool until about the next year. There were streamers all over the chandelier over the kitchen table, and I had to smile instead of light them on fire. "You do that, maestro?"

She nodded excitedly. "Wanna see your cake?"

_Not even remotely. Is it made of alcohol?_ "Sure."

"There are candles, too!"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and smiled instead, "Great." I suppose I was lucky I wasn't being forced to wear one of those coned birthday hats with the uncomfortable elastic string.

"You can make a wish on them!"

_Please make this day be over. _Would that work? _Please create a time vortex or wormhole that will swallow me or this entire day._ Rule was I didn't have to tell what my wish was or it wouldn't come true. I could come up with tons of shit to wish for by that time.

The cake was too large for four of us; it was plastered in a layer of white frosting with blue ribbon frosting on the edges. Rainbow-colored candy confetti had been spewed over the entire surface of the cake. At least there were no goopy flowers. The writing said very clearly in blue gel frosting _Happy 22__nd__ Birthday, Tyler!_ And I forced a smile because Caroline was looking at me so expectantly instead of reading more into it and thinking it more an insult that should have read _Happy 22__nd__ Birthday, Tyler! You made it past Michael! _

My mother had a brunch kind of thing set up with too much food, and I forced myself to eat enough not to raise suspicions. The cake after was too sweet and it had the consistency of paste when I was chewing it. But I forced that down, too, because it was expected by that point. I tried to be a good sport for Caroline, even sitting through blowing out the goddamn candles she insisted on having. I did protest about singing. That just wasn't happening.

"So what are you going to do with the rest of your day?" my mother asked when the plates had been cleared.

_Besides not go hang myself in my apartment, you mean?_ That was the underlining question. To everything, I felt. "I work noon to six today."

"Do you want to stop back after and we can take you to dinner?"

_...So you don't go back to your apartment and hang yourself?_ "No, I think I'll go home after. Thanks, though."

I got the look of concern.

"Aidan wants to take me out," I lied. I was totally lying; Aidan had blessedly said nothing of the sort, and I knew he understood better than my family that I didn't want shit this year. God, I had a flash of him forcing me out, or our apartment filled with the entire population of the building, and people passing out and puking before I'd even gotten there. Oh my God, I'd kill him if he did that.

She seemed much happier with the prospect of binge drinking. _Because then I wasn't hanging myself in my apartment._ She was probably ecstatic this year that I had a roommate. Wonder if that would have stopped Michael? "Oh, well that should be fun."

"Loads," I agreed dryly and was given the look of concern again.

"What about your g–"

I shot Caroline a glare, and she shut her mouth promptly.

My mother looked between the two of us for a minute, but decided not to ask, and I was so fucking happy about that. That was not a conversation I wanted to have today.

I purposely orchestrated my arrival for the "party" late enough in the morning that I could use work as my excuse for leaving relatively quickly after the _festivities_ were concluded. There was the customary teary moment when my mother was preparing for me to leave, and wished me a happy birthday again. I knew it was probably wrought with more emotion this year because it wasn't just another year passing. There was the usual: "I remember when you were _this_ big!" "I remember your first tooth!" "Your first smile!" "Your first day of kindergarten!" "And now look at you! An adult! A man!" Of course she didn't say what I knew was there as well—that I was now officially her oldest child. That Michael was forever frozen at twenty-two while I'd passed into it, and the probability of twenty-three was pretty damn high.

We let the unspoken milestones pass silently for a few moments before she ended with the usual: taking my face in her hands and telling me, "I'm so proud of you. You'll still always be my little boy, Tyler."

…and Michael, too.

My mom didn't need any more shit; so I let it all just wash over me, and I kept all of the comments I could have said to myself. I was doing really well with all of it, too, until she added, "He'd be proud of you, too, you know. Of how you spend time with Caroline. How you've turned into such a wonderful older brother. She adores you."

I couldn't meet her eyes, and I couldn't allow my mouth to open at all, because I knew only a sob would make its way out, and I'd wind up weeping with my mother at the bottom of the stairs. I was lucky she let go of my face so I could drop my head and avoid all eye contact, keeping my head down and nodding a few times quickly.

This was what my mother was best at—knowing you intrinsically even if you didn't (or tried not to) recognize it yourself. She knew just what to say to turn me into a ball of emotional mush. Trick of her trade perhaps.

She also knew when to leave you alone. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it once, and I squeezed back just as hard because I might not have been able to tell her just how much that meant to me in words, but I think she knew anyway. She kissed my cheek. "Happy Birthday, Tyler."

"Thanks," I managed; my voice completely hoarse and rough.

A few tears slipped out silently before I could stop them. But losing in the stairwell was not an option. I still had to say goodbye to Caroline, and she'd know if something was up.

I took several deep breaths as I climbed the stairs, angrily wiping away the evidence of the tears, and trying to compose myself into something more of normal Tyler. I cleared my throat before I knocked on Caroline's door.

"Enter."

I snickered; so formal, my sister. "Hey," I said, poking my head in the room. My voice wasn't completely normal, but it was better than it had been. I decided a silence where she could analyze would only make me look guiltier. "I'm gonna take off. Gotta get to work." I cleared my throat again. "Thanks for the party, maestro."

She was drawing, and her pencil stopped shading the area she was. I couldn't tell from the door what the picture was. She leveled her eyes on me. "Mom?"

I chuckled, grinning. "Yeah. She got me at the bottom of the stairs."

She nodded. "She does that."

"Yeah."

"So why didn't you want me to say anything about your girlfriend?"

I moved into her room more fully, not eager to have this conversation eavesdropped on. I sighed, shrugging at the same time. "Just not something I wanted to get into today. Mom would have insisted on meeting her or bringing her for dinner, and besides the fact that I like having her all to myself, I don't exactly have an idea of how the whole stripper thing will go over."

"Mom's not like that."

"Yeah, I know, I just… It wasn't something I wanted to get into."

"Did you ask her when I can meet her?"

"Not yet, but I will soon, I promise. We were just figuring some things out for a while."

She nodded, like she knew exactly what that meant.

"I gotta get to work, Caroline. I'll call you soon, ok? Thanks again for the party."

"You're welcome."

I moved over to her, enveloping her in a hug, and pressing a kiss into the top of her head. "I'll call you."

"Tyler?" she called out as I was just about out the door.

"Yeah?"

"What's her name? Your girlfriend?"

I smiled gently. "Allison. Her name is Allison."

Caroline went back to her shading after nodding. I don't think she realized either that other than Aidan, literally no one else knew her name. But there was this unquestioning acceptance in something as simple as Caroline's nod. I didn't need her approval, but it made things easier, and talking to her about Allison, today of all days, was the first time I wanted to tell her more. Maybe because other than Caroline and my mom, she was one of the only other good things about this entire fucking day.

I spent most of work in sort of a daze. I called Allison just before getting there, already lost in too many thoughts; thoughts about her, thoughts about Caroline and my mom, Michael, my fucking father. It was a good thing that I knew the bookstore inside and out and could safely hide for hours at a time because customer interaction was probably not wise at the moment.

The slight mood uplift after the end of the party at my mother's house had been completely replaced with the shitty one again by the time I was done with work. I had a sneaking suspicion that my thoughts from earlier about Aidan throwing a party were about to be realized, and I hoped that if nothing else, Allison and I could either leave and spend the night at her apartment, or hide in my room for an indefinite amount of time.

Either way, any thoughts of her not knowing or bypassing the day were over when there was a note taped to the apartment door telling me to go up to the roof. I debated actually ignoring the note completely and just waiting for them to come down. I didn't want a party up there anymore than I wanted a party at my mother's. And I was already in such a pissy mood.

I trudged heavily up to the roof with my beer in hand. I was going to hit Aidan over the head with said bottle if there were tons of people on the roof.

To my surprise, there were blessedly only two people. One of whom I completely adored and another who I tolerated because even if he was an asshole, he was a decent friend when he wanted to be. No one had put any streamers up here, and the only signs of the fact we were celebrating a birthday I wanted to forget were the lone balloon that was weighed down with a fifth of vodka, and the two candles that Allison had stuck in the non-birthday cake-pie.

If I had to pick a way to celebrate my birthday without really celebrating, it would have been this. And she knew me incredibly well. She made the same meal that she made for me all those months ago when I came over for dinner the first time. And it seemed incredibly poignant and thoughtful that she made that particular food. Dinner wound up being the only time I'd been truly happy all fucking day, birthday pie and all.

Then my phone rang. And the happiness started ebbing away slowly with the display.

_Incoming Call: King Midas_

I really should have let it go to voicemail. I have no fucking idea what I was thinking. Maybe I kept hoping he was going to be someone he was not.

I suppose the way the rage always boiled at nothing more than his name was unhealthy. I had issues. But as they weren't likely to ever be solved, it didn't really seem like I should change anything about how I reacted. He was always going to be incorrigible.

"Hello, Tyler."

"Hey."

There was a silence then that I refused to fill with anything. He called. So if he had something to say, he should start saying it.

He cleared his throat. "Twenty-two today, huh?"

"Yep."

"I thought I'd just call to wish you a happy birthday."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Can't believe you're twenty-two already."

Like he noticed the years passing him by? "Yeah, incredible."

He sighed. Like he was upset by the fact that conversation was strained. Like it wasn't his fault. "I didn't call to fight, Tyler."

Well, then why did you call at all? "Ok."

"Did… Did you have a good birthday?"

"What, like, in case it was so shitty I might hang myself, too? Make it a family tradition?"

"Tyler. That's not what I meant."

"Right."

He was silent for a while, and there was another sigh there. "You're stronger than he was, Tyler."

I don't think I can accurately explain the additional anger that exploded in my chest. But I managed to keep my voice much calmer than I thought I'd be able to. Eerily controlled. "It's not nice to speak ill of the dead, _dad_."

"Tyler—" he started.

But I was done. "Thanks for calling."

"Jesus, Tyler. Why do you have to make this so hard?"

I ended the call. Because not doing so would have meant unleashing the anger that was boiling.

I didn't exactly handle the conversation well. And I basically ruined the atmosphere that they created on the roof. Drinking wasn't the answer, but it burned going down and that made my chest burn for a different reason. Made me forget momentarily why it was burning in the first place.

Of course Allison was well within her rights to call me on it. And that was half the reason I loved her. Because she called me on shit, and she didn't just take it. So it wasn't like I even had a choice other than following her when she made her exit. If I had decided to stay up on the roof, while I'm sure she would have been pissed, I don't think she would have held it against me either.

I sighed, throwing back a last shot of vodka as the door to the roof closed behind her.

"You wanna talk about it?" Aidan asked.

I shook my head, and leaned over, elbows on my knees, head down between my shoulders, trying to will the anger into something else, or at least let it go for the moment. She made this day innumerably better by just being in my life, mini party notwithstanding, and I didn't want to take this out on her once I got downstairs.

"You want another drink?" Aidan asked.

I shook my head again, but didn't raise it to look at him. "I better not. I'd love another one. I'd love to just down the whole bottle and pass out and forget this day entirely, but I can't."

"Yeah."

I sighed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"I'm sorry your dad ruined shit tonight."

"Yeah, me, too. But thanks for the party. It was by far the best part of the day."

"Yeah, it was all Allison pretty much. I just did what I was ordered to do. I wanted to invite a bunch of people and get you drunk."

I snorted, raising my head enough to see him. "I would have killed you."

He shrugged, grinning. "She didn't think that was a good plan, either. I still say you woulda been happier."

I sighed and stood up, stretching my neck and shoulders. The tension there with just a short conversation with him was sort of ridiculous. "I'm sorry you're stuck cleaning up."

"Eh, not the first time; won't be the last. It's your birthday. You shouldn't have to clean up."

"Well thanks anyway."

"Sure." He smirked and pulled me into a hug. "I'm gonna drink the rest of your vodka so don't thank me too much."

I laughed as I pulled back. "It's all yours, man. Have at it."

"Happy Birthday."

"Thanks."

As I made my way downstairs, I couldn't tear my thoughts completely away from my father. And Michael. Always Michael. In reality, I knew there was no way we would ever know the real cause or what or who was responsible for Michael's death. And logically, I knew that Michael was ultimately responsible. He made the final decision. So it wasn't really a matter or responsibility, but accountability, liability. Other people could be held liable. If a drunk driver killed someone, and died in the same accident, they can still be charged with the death. There was no difference here.

The fact that my father was basically completely emotionally absent for me was fine. I was ok with that. I was old enough to deal with it. But Caroline deserved better, and she was only asking for time and interest. Nothing more. Surely Charles Hawkins could take moments out of his horrendously busy lifestyle to give a shit about his only daughter. Why have a child if you're not going to pay attention to it?

We never discussed Michael's death. Never. The minute he died, he became something nonexistent in the realm of conversation for my father. Like collateral damage. And Caroline and I became just as invisible.

My thoughts were still bouncing all over the place when I walked into my bedroom. And then they all just sort of floated away because she was already in her pajamas and sitting on the bed with her back against the wall, and it just didn't matter anymore today. I didn't want to think about my father anymore. Or Michael. Or anyone else. I just wanted to be with her and try to get back to the parts of the day that didn't suck. Which were pretty much all the parts with her in it.

I realized that even if I reacted badly to anything involving my father, I had to learn to control it better. Because I felt like an even huger asshole when she left a present on my pillow even after I'd been a dick on the roof. I had to stop taking my frustration and anger over my father out on other people I loved.

She was incredibly nervous about the gift once I started opening it. It was a small box which limited the options, and at one point, she looked like she was almost ready to snatch it back from me. She managed to continuously surprise me. And for someone that actually hadn't known me that long, she really did know me well. I'd never been given a ring by a girl, or by anyone for that matter. And I was going to make the customary joke about marriage and rings, but she looked so incredibly nervous, I didn't. She'd put an incredible amount of thought into this gift. Knowing the whole story behind it, its symbols and meaning, and how she picked it out; the meaning of the griffin symbol was a balance between good and evil—strong and protective but angry and unstable. She was saying that she felt protected with me, even if I was angry and unstable. She was saying that she accepted that in me—that sometimes I was volatile, and she cared about me anyway. That she was taking the good with the bad and our lives were intertwined like the knots now. She had no way of knowing that my family was part Irish, so that was cool in itself, too. And dragons and griffins were incredibly cool, guy-like symbols to have on a ring. For a piece of jewelry, it was very masculine.

Before I interrupted her panicked explanation that ended with her offering to get something else, and tell her it was the perfect gift, she'd said _I just wanted you to have something that…_. She hadn't really needed to end that sentence. I knew exactly what she meant. She wanted me to have something that also marked me as hers. And I couldn't have been happier to do so. I loved that I was hers just as much as I loved she was mine. They weren't hard connections to make.

I kind of couldn't stop touching the ring. Or playing with it. Or at least just being aware of its presence. It made my hand feel different and not at all different at the same time. Pretty much the entire time she was making breakfast, I was playing with it, holding it up to the light, letting the sunlight that was filtering in bounce off the silver and make little flecks all over the wall like a prism, and smiling like a gigantic moron. And she totally caught me.

"You're not following directions, Tyler."

I put my hand down quickly, but couldn't really erase the smirk.

"What directions was I supposed to be following again?"

"Napping. Saving up your energy for after breakfast."

"You realize that the more you say shit like that, the less I'm thinking about breakfast, right?"

She chuckled, handing me a plate.

I sat up against the wall; the only thing that could distract me from sex was her food. Pancakes weren't supposed to look this good. I may have moaned quite sexually while taking the first bite.

She chuckled at me. "I'm glad you like them…and the ring," she added quickly, and quieter than the rest.

I leaned closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I love it. And the pancakes are awesome."

Truthfully, the post-pancake blowjob wasn't a whole lot longer than the first. And I blame her, her pancakes, the ring, and her some more, for that.

She was shaking her head and clucking her tongue at me on her way back up to lie next to me. Instead of landing next to me, she landed on my chest instead, and then laughed at the exhale-laced grunt I let out. "Gimme your phone."

I fumbled on the nightstand for it, and it really would have been easier for her to just grab it, but maybe she didn't know if it was cool for her to just take it. I mean, realistically, she had my cock in her mouth three minutes before. As far as I was concerned, she could assume and have any goddamn thing she wanted. I handed her the phone and she started dialing.

"Who're you calling?" I asked, tickling her when she dug her elbows into my chest.

She squirmed and dug them in more for a second before easing the pressure. "I'm calling 911."

"What for?"

"Because I need to talk to someone?"

"About?"

"Why a young guy like you has such shit stamina."

I tickled her some more. "Ouch. That hurts, ya know."

She shrugged when I stopped tickling, smirking while she dug her elbows in again in retaliation.

"I should call the police and see if someone can be arrested for…" I stopped.

She looked at me expectantly.

"Never mind. That was going to be a completely pointless joke that made no sense anyway because that fact that your blowjobs only last a few minutes is really testament to how awesome they are. So ignore that."

She snorted. "You're a dork. I really just wanted an excuse to see how many chicks you have on your phone."

I burst out laughing. "You could have just asked. I would have just given it to you."

"Oh yeah? No secrets on this phone?"

I shook my head, resting my hands on her back again.

"You can learn a lot about a person from their phone."

"Is that right?"

"Yep. Like who they call the most. Who they never call. Who they call certain names. What kind of background they pick."

"And what does my background say about me?"

She made a production of looking at the wallpaper. I honestly rarely changed it, and couldn't remember what it even was currently.

"Your background says you have a little sister that messes with your phone." She turned the phone for me to see.

I groaned. The phone's current wallpaper was of that fucking pasty cake; in particular the Happy Birthday part with the HA missing because a piece had been cut out.

She chuckled. "She loves you."

I nodded. "I love her, too. Remember when I told you she wants to meet you?"

"Yeah…"

"Yeah, she asked again. After the party."

She nodded slowly, looking down.

"Is that…would that be ok?" I paused and then quickly added, "If we met her somewhere or if you met us when I pick her up from school or something? She has summer school a couple days a week."

She started chewing her lip. "Yeah, I guess."

"Would that make you uncomfortable?"

She shrugged.

"I mean, eventually, you're going to have to meet her. Eventually you're going to have to meet my mother, too."

Her eyes cut to me; something between nervousness and obstinacy written there. Like a challenge. Like I couldn't force her if she didn't want to. That was the look.

My eyebrows went up. "What? It's the truth. If you're dating me, eventually you'll have to meet my family. It's just part of the deal."

She sighed and nodded again. "Yeah, ok."

Victory! Caroline would be so excited. "I'll set it up."

She smirked. "You do that."

"What else does my phone say? Do I pass this particular test?"

"I dunno yet." She thumbed through a few more. "You love your mom."

"These are kind of generic and something everyone has, aren't they? Because I have my mom in my phone and it says 'Mom,' that means I love her? Where's the juicy shit? Am I that boring?"

She raised a brow. "There are a lot of unnamed phone calls. Unrecognized numbers."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "If I had to make a guess, I'd say they were women who had your number."

"And?"

"And they're only incoming calls. So you didn't call them back."

"That's true."

"And there are a lot of contacts that you've never called."

I nodded.

"Women who put their numbers in your phone?"

I nodded again. "You know there's no one else, right?"

She nodded back. "Yeah, your call volume has gone way down."

I laughed. "We can delete them. All of them."

"That'd leave you with very few contacts."

I smirked. "And what would that say?"

"I dunno, you're pussy-whipped?"

I laughed.

"That our number of contacts would be more equal."

"I think people tend to keep a lot of numbers even if they don't use them."

"That's kinda pointless," she said, her eyebrows pulled down. "Why have someone's number if you're never going to use it? Just delete it. Unless you wanna keep a few on the string in case something goes south." She smirked at me, and I knew she was kidding, but I grabbed the phone and started deleting anyway. "You don't have to do that, Tyler. I was kidding."

"I know, but you're right. I don't know half of them, and I don't want to. And I'm never going to call them. I don't need the numbers anymore. I've got you."

She laid her head on my chest while I was deleting. "Tell me about them."

"Who?"

"The women you're deleting."

I eyed her, wondering why she wanted to know this, but she just seemed genuinely curious. I think she was just interested in my past. It wasn't a jealousy or comparison thing. "I honestly don't remember most of them."

"Mmm."

"Does that make you see me differently?" I asked, suddenly genuinely curious myself. I mean, I'd been monogamous in relationships (mostly), but if I hadn't been in one, I certainly hadn't been kicking women out of my bed, either.

She thought about it for a minute, making circles over my skin with one finger. "No. I knew that's who you were when I met you. But I also knew it was just… I dunno. Survival? That's not the right word, not what I really mean, but I don't know what else to call it. I wouldn't have agreed to date you if I really thought that was all you were."

"Who was I when you met me?"

She smirked. "You were a player."

I smirked back. "Was I?"

"You were trying to play me. I just didn't bite."

"No, you certainly didn't. You really think I was a player?"

She shrugged. "I guess. I dunno what else to call you. You were looking to get laid."

I laughed. "I guess, yeah. I wouldn't have called myself a player really. I mean, I wasn't soliciting. I just didn't say no if someone wanted to come home with me."

"Pfft, what do you mean you weren't soliciting? You walked into that bar looking to get laid. If that's not soliciting, I dunno what is."

"Hmm. I guess I've never thought about it like that before."

"You wouldn't, you're a guy."

"Ugh, that's a lame explanation."

"I mean, though, you weren't… I don't mean it in a bad way."

I laughed again. "Thanks."

"No, like there are assholes who are players and then there are just regular guys who are looking to score, ya know?"

"No, what's the difference?"

She sighed, propping her head on her hands instead. "I dunno. Attitude? Maybe player's not the right word. I just didn't know what else to call it. You were confident."

"Confident is better than a player."

"Ok, confident then."

I nodded, in that way that signifies finality. Like I'd won or something.

"Do you remember any of them?" She chuckled.

I smiled. "Uhm, this girl, Amy, she was nice. But she was a do-er. Like, she talked endlessly about how she was going to save the world through politics. She was incredibly naïve. I didn't want to corrupt her, and I didn't want her to fix me."

"Fair enough."

"Ugh, this girl was a total bitch. Eva. She thought she was ten times prettier than she really was and she was a horrible lay."

She laughed. "Jesus. You're mean. What about that Allison girl?"

"You asked me! I'm only being honest. Would you rather I lie about the ones I remember?"

"No, I appreciate the honesty."

"Allison. Allison, Allison, Allison. Hmm. Cute. Short. Beautiful eyes. She's easy to remember."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Definitely a keeper. She fits with me, even though she could do way better."

Her lips pressed against my chest. "That Tyler guy is too nice."

"Eh, he was kind of a prick, but only because he didn't see things going anywhere with any of them."

She pressed another kiss to my chest, but I didn't acknowledge it. "Sarah. God, there are three Sarah's on here? How would I even know which one I was dialing? Why wouldn't they put like a last name or initial or something to distinguish themselves? They've made themselves completely nondescript."

I handed the phone back to her. "There. I think I know everyone on there now."

She scrolled through the remaining contacts. "Wow, your life is gonna be so boring now."

I snorted.

"Who's this?" She turned the display. "King…Midas?"

I sighed. "That's Mr. Charles Hawkins himself."

"Your dad? Why King Midas?"

"Michael loved mythology. And in Greek mythology, King Midas was a kind ruler that was granted one wish by the god Dionysus. His wish was that everything he touched would turn to gold. So he was admiring his garden and the way that the flowers reached towards the sun for light, but when he touched them, they turned to gold. When he was hungry, every food he touched turned to gold. When he was thirsty, everything he tried to drink turned to gold. His clothes, his entire palace. And then one day, his daughter came in to see him, and without thinking, he reached for her, and she turned to gold, too. His greed killed his daughter. His lust for gold and power killed his kid."

She just watched me for a minute, and I couldn't read her expression. When she did start talking again, it wasn't what I expected. "You think your dad's greed killed your brother?"

I thought that was rather implicit in my story retelling, but I indulged her. "Yes."

"How?"

"I…I don't even know how to answer that. How did it not? If my father wasn't such a fucking prick, and if he thought about his family half as much as he thought about money, Michael might be here today."

She sighed. "Have you ever thought that maybe your dad was thinking about his family when he asked Michael to work for him?"

"He doesn't ask. My father doesn't ask anything. Michael was working for him, end of story."

"And you don't think that maybe he was trying to help him?"

"No. I don't."

She nodded. And for some reason it really annoyed me. Like it was placating. "What?" I demanded.

"Nothing."

"No, tell me. Obviously you have something to say about it."

"I don't want to fight, Tyler. Let's just drop it."

"No." I should have learned a long time ago to drop things.

She sighed, and pushed off of my chest. "Tyler, I don't want to do this with you."

"Well I want to. I want to do this. Enlighten me. Tell me more about what I'm missing. Tell me all about my father. The father that you don't know."

She was shaking her head at me, but it had an amused air to it, and that pissed me off some more. Like she superiorly knew something more than I did about a topic she had no connection to.

"You're right. I don't know your father. You win."

Oh, she had to know that shit wasn't going to fly.

"Just fucking say what you want to."

"Fine. You think you know about greed and lust and everything else. But you don't know shit, Tyler. You're so fucking clueless about the real world. You talk about life like you know what one has been like. And you don't. You don't know shit."

"And I suppose you do? You're going to school me on it? Is that it?"

"Tyler, you don't even know how much you have. You blame your dad for everything that's gone wrong in your life, but he's the one who provided everything for you."

"What?"

"Well you certainly didn't have a problem with his money when he was paying for private schools and European vacations, and whatever the fuck else you've gotten to have because of it. Did you? You didn't have a problem when he was buying you the best of everything with that money, did you? Who pays for you to not really go to college? Who pays for this apartment? Do you Tyler? Do you pay for it? All of it? You have no fucking idea what greed means. Greed like selling people for money. Greed like killing someone for drugs. Funny how everything he's done for you seems a lot more to me like being a decent fucking parent than deliberately trying to fuck up your life. You need to take some responsibility for yourself, Tyler. And stop blaming your father for everything. He can't be your excuse for everything."

We somehow managed to both be basically panting with rage by the time she was done with that. Neither of us were in bed anymore, and we were basically shouting at each other from opposite sides of the bed.

And I didn't really know how we'd gotten to this point when everything had been fine a few minutes ago.

She sighed heavily, letting out a long breath, and sort of deflated. She shook her head and didn't look at me. "I'm going to shower."

She steered clear of me on her way to the bathroom, and I didn't stop her. I was still mad and…I didn't want to hear what she was saying about my father, because she was shooting holes in shit I was keeping close to me like fucking Swiss cheese. And if I was being truly honest with myself, anger was all I had with him a lot of time. I wasn't sure I knew how to react to him any other way. And I didn't really want to let go of it. I knew all of that shit. I always did. And it was always there in the back of my mind, but I'd pushed it so far away to keep holding onto whatever I had to hold against him…

Our lives had not at all been alike. And I was seriously an asshole for not remembering that. I imagine I came off as an even bigger bastard every time I complained about my father, given what she'd missed out on, and what she hadn't had. He hadn't always been a prick. He'd been absent, but he'd been a father for some of it.

Her experiential example of greed kept running on a loop through my head. Because examples came from experience; they had to. People didn't talk that strongly about things they didn't know. _You have no fucking idea what greed means. Greed like selling people for money. Greed like killing someone for drugs. _Selling people for money and killing for drugs. That had to mean that someplace in her past included those experiences, if even indirectly. She'd been a user, but I didn't think murder was really in her repertoire, so that one I guessed had to be from a witness standpoint only. Selling people for money.

She'd had prior arrest and small jail stints. No parents; runaway at a young age, abusive foster homes, men that did not get her off. Men didn't even want to. Gentleness and attentiveness had been foreign concepts. Stripper. Nothing normal was normal to her. All the questions about if things were right or ok, or the correct response. Dating like we had been being not her normal experience. Never had a guy go down on her. _Mostly they just got off_. The whole aversion to approaching from behind and no anal.

I was such a fucking moron.

Selling _herself_ for money. That was the connection I hadn't been making or hadn't wanted to make. I _didn't _know anything about that.

Fucking. Hell.

Allison had been a prostitute. It was like all the cogs shifted into their correct places all at once, and I felt like it'd been there all along and I just missed what was glaringly obvious.

All the anger from everything about my dad just evaporated all at once. I didn't need to resolve that part with myself right now. I just needed to fix the argument part. And do it without her knowing I'd just made this leap to figure shit out. Because she still hadn't told me, and obviously didn't want me to know.

I seemed to be spending an awful lot of time recently trying to fix shit that I'd fucked up with her.

I was halfway to the bathroom before I started wondering if I was going to apologize because I was actually sorry or because I knew she'd been a prostitute. Did that change anything? Not intrinsically, no. It wasn't a huge leap to make from where I'd been before with the clues not tying together. And it didn't change the way I felt about her. I mean, I had questions, but they could wait until she told me.

I realized, too, that she was basically right: I had no concept of what life was like for someone like her. Not that I needed to put her in some category of us and them, but in comparison to her life, to this new bit of information, my life had been so much easier. I couldn't even imagine what would drive someone; a child no less, to make that decision. How desperate or what circumstances would make that possible.

And it sort of surprised me how much this new fact _didn't _bother me. Maybe I'd suspected or known it all along. I think if I wouldn't have had her in my life already, it might have bothered me more, and that made me a bit ashamed that I even had that thought. I was better than that. Or I hoped I was. I hoped I was before I knew her, but obviously she'd changed things about me—or she'd facilitated parts of me that hadn't been fully developed before, or only extended to Caroline and no one else. She made me better because she made me less of a pretentious asshole. Those women I deleted from my phone—had that been what they'd seen? Nothing more than a pretentious asshole who fucked them once if they were lucky?

Wow.

I needed to apologize. Again. Some more. Forever.

I didn't knock, but I made sure I made enough noise that she'd know I was in the bathroom. She didn't turn or acknowledge me when I peeked around the shower curtain and stepped into the tub with her. She was facing away from me, her head under the spray, just standing there letting it run off of her body.

I sighed and let it out in a deep breath, moving over to her, and slowly let my hands wrap about her stomach until I could pull her back into me. She didn't jerk away, so that was a positive sign. I ducked my head under the water with her, and we just stayed that way for a few minutes, her body leaned into mine.

I pressed a kiss to her temple, and then her cheek before trailing down to her shoulder. I rested my chin there, and turned my head so my mouth was by her ear. "I'm sorry."

She let out a sigh of her own and pushed back into me more. "Me, too."

"You make me better. Do you get what I mean by that?"

She shrugged.

"I mean that you're never afraid to tell me shit I should know, or don't see. And I need that. I need someone to tell me that I don't know about everything—to remind me. Remind me I need a reality check. You keep me grounded and you remind me that I don't know nearly half as much as I think I do."

"And that's good?" she asked.

"Yes, it is. Because otherwise I can be a real prick. And I don't want to be. I want to be better than that. For you. You make me want to be that."

"Why?" she asked, like this was a foreign concept again.

"Because you deserve that."

She looked at me sideways, disbelief and wariness there.

"You don't realize just how much you are to me. You're the only one that matters to me. I don't want to lose that. You're the only contact that I want to talk to in that fucking phone. The only call that I want to take."

I pressed a kiss to her shoulder again. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I lose sight of the fact that my life hasn't been as bad as I think it has."

She sighed. "Tyler, I didn't really mean to just unload all of that on you. I really have no right to tell you shit about your dad."

"No, you do. And you're right about a lot of that, too. It's just easier to stay the way we are than to change it. And I'm just… angry. I don't know how to be anything but angry at him anymore."

"I was angry for a long time, too."

"About?"

"Everything. My life. The hand I got dealt. What I was doing and why I had to do it instead of someone else. Why other people seemed to have it so easy." She paused. "But then I'd see someone who had it worse and eventually, it was just easier to let it go. It didn't eat away at me then."

I wanted to ask her what she meant, to get her to tell me about it. Admit it. But she wasn't there yet.

"And I don't want this to turn into some bullshit about how my life has sucked more than yours, either. I'm not into pity. And I don't truck with people who make me a victim, either."

"I don't think you're a victim." Well, I was lying there. I think she was. "Or if anything you're a victim of circumstance, I think. But I don't see you… I just see _you_."

She nodded. "Ok. And I don't want to make you feel bad that your family has been able to give you shit, either. That wasn't what I wanted to do. Or to make you think that you can't say shit about it. Or talk to me about it."

"Ok," I agreed, squeezing her.

"Ok," she said back.

"Ok," I echoed, chuckling near her ear until she squirmed away from me. She turned, smiling, much less serious, and wrapped her arms around my neck, arching on her toes to kiss me. My reaction was some mix of sigh and groan, because when she arched, her breasts pressed into me and the rest of her wasn't far behind, and it felt good to just be like this with her again. We didn't need to be doing shit; I just missed her this way. When she pulled back from the kiss, I pushed the wet hair that had gathered in front of her behind her ears, and leaned down for another one. They were languid and slow, and neither of us seemed in a hurry for it to end. I rested my forehead against hers when we parted, sighing. "I missed you naked."

Her eyes flicked to me, her brow furrowing. "I'm sorry, Tyler."

"What are you sorry for?"

"God, I must seem like such a fucking nutcase."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean that I'm a fucking stripper, I take off my clothes for a living. And I can't even imagine what you must have been thinking when I was doing that at night but I couldn't take my clothes off for my own boyfriend."

"Nah, I get it."

"Get what?"

I shrugged. "It's two completely different things. You don't expose yourself in the same way on the stage. Stripping isn't the same as showing yourself to me."

She cocked an eyebrow at me; disbelief.

"Seriously. It's a different kind of vulnerable in a relationship." I smiled widely. "I'm just glad it seems to be over. 'Cause I missed you. All of you."

She shook her head, but she was smiling at me. "You're so fucking weird."

"Yeah, but you like weird, right?"

She shrugged. "I guess. I dunno."

"You dunno?"

She was smirking. "Well, I mean I don't have much to compare to. I'm not sure what a 'normal' guy is like."

No, given my latest realization, that was probably truer than ever. She was teasing me though. "Right. I'm ok being weird instead of normal. Or I'm like a normal-weird."

"You nicknamed your father after a myth on your phone. That's not normal, Tyler."

I laughed. "Yeah, ok. That might be a little…different."

"Yeah, most people just go with plain old 'Dad,' I think."

"Didn't seem fitting."

"And what would I be? If you were going to put me in there as a myth…person."

Oh, man. What a loaded question. And how did I decide on the spot like this? Did I go with overly romantic and sappy? Pull out the goddesses that were known for their beauty? She didn't really go for sweeping romance, although I'd never really tried that. I'd just been normal and she'd been appreciative because her experiences were so dissimilar to that. Crap. "Well, I mean, I could go Aphrodite; she was the goddess of love and beauty," …not to mention patron of prostitutes, but I'd leave that little nugget alone. She didn't seem too impressed with the love and beauty shit. "Or there's Leto or Selene, goddesses of the moon." I paused, thinking. I could go with the Muses, but they wouldn't really make sense because I had no creative aspirations and anything else was gonna sound way too fucking cheesy. "Psyche personified the soul. She was the wife of Eros, the God of Love, and their myth is about how love and soul come together. It's the only time that I know of that a myth ends with a happily ever after. She was born human and became a goddess…" I trailed off. I sighed. "Honestly, none of them really fit. And I don't want to have you as something else in my phone. I just like that you're Allison. I don't want you to be anyone else."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog if you're interested.


	28. Chapter 28

**********************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

* * *

**APOV**

Was it a normal reaction to be terrified of a twelve-year-old? Or her opinion of you? Or approval?

I felt like this was some kind of test; a deal breaker. That if Caroline didn't like me, the door was right over there.

Then I panicked because I didn't even know how to make someone like me. I'd never cared before. People could just go fuck themselves because I didn't need their approval or permission. I was fine on my own. This though, this was important. It was important to Tyler, which meant it had to be important to me. And so it was important to make sure that Caroline liked me. God, how did people do this? How did you even _do_ that? Make yourself likable. Make yourself seem good enough to be Tyler's girlfriend. Should I be into stuff Caroline was into? Did kids like that shit? To, like, relate? I could barely even remember what being a kid was like. I'd never done much that was "kid stuff." What the fuck was "kid stuff?" She was almost a teenager. Did that mean she was still a kid, or should I treat her like an adult? Would that be right or bad? What was cool to a twelve year old?

Fuck. I didn't even know what was cool to an adult!

Oh my God, this was going to be a complete disaster. I felt like having a crying breakdown right this minute was a really good idea, and I hadn't even met her yet!

Tyler's only advice had been: "Allison. Chill. She'll love you. Just be yourself."

Be myself? Was he fucking kidding? What the fuck kind of answer was that? A bullshit, after-school special pep talk!?

I wasn't even this nervous for my first date with _him_! And that had been bad enough! My hands were all cold and clammy. This was so not normal.

He was picking Caroline up and bringing her to meet me at what he thought was neutral ground. I mean, I thought that's what he was doing anyway. Picking a random location that was at least somewhat familiar to me, because he'd picked Chelsea Piers where we'd gone ice skating, and an activity that was not… He fucking picked bowling. I have no idea why. Maybe kids liked that shit. Maybe Caroline did and he was trying to pick something she liked.

All I knew was that he was due to walk through the door with her any second, and I was so fucking nervous, I was nearly hyperventilating. I should have brought a gift or something. Butter her up. Get on her good side right away. Definitely should have gotten a gift. One that said: _Here, instantly like me because I got you this… _

I forced myself to stop chewing through my fingernail when the door opened and he held it open for her, ushering her inside. In fact, I forced myself to try to stay still, and I think I wound up coming off even more nervous because I was so obvious.

He seemed completely relaxed and they were smiling and chuckling when they came over, so apparently she did not share my nervousness. Figures. She had nothing to lose here.

"Hey," Tyler said, as they stopped in front of me. "Allison, this is my sister Caroline. Caroline, this is my girlfriend, Allison."

Well. I mean…I was even surprised by that already. Not that he said it, really, but just… Yeah, that he said it. That he totally just started it that way. Like, here—sister meets girlfriend. I smiled at her, shooting him a quick look, and did we shake hands? Was that what you did with a little sister? I sort of just waited for her lead and thought even my "Hi," sounded fumbled and shaky.

"Hi," Caroline said back. "It's nice to meet you."

Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ. This was so gonna bomb. She was half his age and four times as polite. How did he ever think this was going to go well!? I cleared my throat, trying to seem normal anyway. "It's really nice to meet you, too." She nodded to me, ducking her head a bit. "Tyler's told me a lot about you."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, then you obviously know way more, since he's been keeping you a secret like it's a matter of national security. I barely got your name out of him."

Had anyone else said that, I think I would have panicked even more at that, but she said it so…easily. And not at all in the snobby, sarcastic tone that other people would have. She just meant exactly what she said, nothing more, and I had a flash of Tyler telling me one time he liked hanging out with her because there was no bullshit. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Or maybe she was exactly like her brother, and she was trying to tell me that our playing field was even. That she knew nothing about me, and was just there to learn. Maybe I was fucking nuts and twelve-year-olds didn't even think of shit like that. "Well, you can ask me anything you want."

"Within reason," Tyler added, winking at me.

"Right," I agreed, really having no clue what I was agreeing to.

"Don't give her an inch, she'll take a mile," he added, nudging her with his arm. "She's sneaky about it, too. Let's get shoes."

And the introductions were kind of over. Just like that. It seemed all very…anticlimactic. So…we just hung out then? That was it? Huh.

Tyler fielded shoes and then we were on a search for the perfect bowling ball. And somehow I wound up with that task with Caroline alone. Tyler went off in search of his own, and he totally just left me with her. I mean, it wasn't like she was an infant, but it was uncomfortable, and I hated him from afar when he craned his head back to smirk at me from across the bowling alley. Jerk.

"Do you bowl a lot?" I asked, cringing. God, what kind of question was that?

"Not really. A few times a year, I guess," she answered. "Sometimes with birthday parties and stuff, but every once in a while Tyler and I go."

"Right."

"Do you?" She asked.

I shook my head, pulling a ball out from the tray and testing the weight. "Pfft, no. I haven't bowled in years." I wasn't particularly picky with the ball I chose. It just felt like the right weight, and that was it. Caroline on the other hand, seemed to be making her choice based less on weight and more on the color or the swirls on the ball.

And it became completely obvious to me that she was a nerd. And I didn't mean that in a bad way. It was cute. Analytical over a bowling ball. It was obviously genetic.

I didn't say anything about the ball she chose, but Tyler chuckled when she dropped it in the ball return.

"You sure that one's gonna work for you, maestro? Looks a little heavy."

She largely ignored him. "It'll be fine." I loved her already.

He just smirked at me and looked at her fondly. "Ok." He clapped his hands once. "I'm gonna get a beer. You want something, babe? Diet Coke?"

I don't think he realized he even said that, because he was looking at me expectantly, his eyebrows raised in question; his hand scratching at the back of his head. And the term _babe_ was one that I didn't normally accept very well. I'd been called a fuckton of different things over the years, and dudes in strip clubs weren't very _polite_ with their terms, either. I think the thing I hated to hear the most was _sugar_. There was something built-in there that made it skeevy and gross no matter who was saying it, no matter what the reason. And really, any term could be skeevy and gross; _honey, sweetheart, baby, babe, sweetness, love, darlin', cutie, pumpkin. _And those were the nice ones. I'd been called a lot of other shit, too.

Tyler's didn't sound anything like those. In fact, I don't think I ever heard that term said in quite that way, and definitely not to me. It was like it just rolled off his tongue like my name did. And I had to admit, that he did it _then_, not even thinking about it, and in front of his sister—I really liked it. I wasn't sure I was keeping the blush off of my face or not. I nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great."

He smiled, nodding. "Caroline?"

"I'm good."

"You sure? Soda? Beer?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Fine, I'll have water."

He nodded again. "Water," and muttered something about pizza to himself as he walked to the bar and Caroline was smiling at me. I don't think she missed the _babe_ there either, but she seemed about as happy about it as I was.

~ooOoo~

Caroline was a terrible bowler. Like, really terrible. Tyler was also right, the ball she chose for its looks was far too heavy for her, but neither of us said anything more about that either. If the object of the game of bowling was to throw the ball in the gutter as many times as you could, Caroline would have won hands down. On the other hand, I also got the impression that she didn't give a fuck about bowling, and really wasn't attempting to do well at it. Every once in a while Tyler would make some suggestion, but she seemed to ignore all of them, and as long as she was having a good time, Tyler didn't care either.

I just didn't think this was her thing. So I wasn't sure she considered this a _good time_, but she didn't seem to be having a bad one either.

Tyler was not a terrible bowler. He wasn't bowling a 300, but he was never in the gutter, and he made strikes or spares on most of the frames. He plunked down next to me on the bench as Caroline got up for her frame. "So is she as scary as you imagined?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head, smiling. "No, not scary."

"Pretty harmless, right?"

"Yeah."

"You feel pretty silly now that you were freaking out over a twelve year old, huh?"

I pinched his leg through his jeans.

"Ow!"

Caroline turned and I looked completely innocent, waving to her. She waved back like that was completely normal and went back to her frame.

"You're turn, Allison," she said after another gutter ball.

I threw a strike, which put me quite a bit ahead of Tyler. I watched his reaction to the lame cartoon strike notice that flashed on the television screens above our lane, making it impossible for anyone in the whole place to miss a strike. I couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed that I was beating him. "What?" I asked, as we passed each other on his way to the lane.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head.

Caroline had started doodling on napkins by the time he got back. He nudged her. "You're up, maestro." He plunked down next to me again. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Are you jealous?"

"What, that you're totally kicking both of our asses? No. I just didn't know you were a semi-pro."

I nearly spit out my Coke. I mean, he had no idea, but it was still really funny to me for some reason. I had a thought though, and cut my eyes to him. "Was I supposed to let her win?"

He laughed. "No, she's not five. And I don't think her heart's really in bowling anyway. I'm not surprised. She's not exactly into sports, even non-sports like bowling."

"So why did you pick bowling then?"

He shrugged. "I didn't know you were any good. I thought maybe you could bond over sucking."

I elbowed him and he laughed some more. "Then make sure you don't put me anywhere near a pool table. 'Cause I don't suck at that either."

I really didn't know what was 'appropriate' in front of his sister. I mean we were sitting on the bench together, and he had his arm over the back of it. I was sitting in the space there, tucked into him, but we weren't all over each other or anything. He leaned over and pressed a kiss into my neck, but then stayed there, breathing hot air over my neck until I squirmed and attempted to squish his head between my head and shoulder. He backed up laughing. "Were you a pool hustler?"

I shrugged. "You could say that."

"I think that might be more of a sibling-less date," he said, winking at me.

"Yeah, I think so," I agreed.

He pressed his lips to mine quickly, and when he sat back again, Caroline was smirking at us. "Tenth frame," she announced.

I got up and as I went to finish my game, I realized several things at once. One was that we were out in public, and I couldn't remember ever having kissed a guy just in public like that and not been either embarrassed or hustling, and not for pool. Another was that there was a level of easiness with Caroline that was pretty much just like being with Tyler. And I think she liked me. Or at least, she liked the idea of me—the idea of me and Tyler.

And I liked her, too.

~ooOoo~

Caroline wanted to go to the MET after bowling. I'd never been to the MET before. But it really didn't surprise me when Tyler told me that they had a family membership. And it was really obvious that Caroline knew the place inside and out. She could have been a tour guide.

One of the first things we looked at was this painting of ballerinas by some guy named Edgar whose last name I couldn't remember no matter how many times Caroline patiently told me what it was. It just wasn't a normal name. And…I wasn't sure that I really "got" art. Caroline was like a faucet of information you couldn't shut off. I mean, I understood what she was saying about shit in the painting. I understood the terms she was using or when she explained what something meant. I just…didn't care. It wasn't like I wasn't paying attention to her or that I was trying to be uninterested, I just obviously did not share this interest. I tried to nod every once in a while when I wasn't getting lost in what she was saying. It wasn't that the art wasn't impressive, either. There was more shit in this place than you'd ever have time to look at; a lot of it was really amazing. But I couldn't imagine spending the amount of time that Caroline must have spent just looking and analyzing all of this.

She was studying it like it was going to grow legs and walk off the wall. And I'm sure this was not something new to her. She seemed to know all about it already, so I wasn't sure what the point of more looking was, but she was really into it, and Tyler was sort of just lingering near us. This didn't seem new to him at all.

He rounded back to us about the same time Caroline announced, "I bet you're a good dancer."

What? I did one of those eye cuts to him to make sure I wasn't missing something, and she knew I was a stripper, but one didn't really have to go with the other. You didn't have to know how to dance to strip. Most guys didn't give a shit how you were moving your body as long as clothes were falling at your feet. "Um, thanks?"

Caroline nodded, smiling. "You have really long legs, and you look like you know how to dance."

And then she was gone, on to the next painting.

I stood there blinking for a second, and then turned to Tyler, my eyebrows pulling down. "I think your sister's checking me out. That could have been mistaken for a pass at me."

He smirked, chuckling, and put his arm around my shoulder as we started to follow Caroline. He took a deep breath and let it out with, "You're so weird."

I craned to look up at him. "I'm weird? I think that's genetic in your family."

He squeezed my shoulder. "Yeah, probably. I think she was just trying to be nice."

That was probably genetic in his family, too.

Caroline was suddenly back by us nearly vibrating with excitement. "Tyler! Allison! I forgot! The Tobey Collection is being exhibited!"

Tyler managed to sound way more excited than I felt at that information. "Great!"

As she buzzed off to where I assumed The Tobey Collection lived, I asked, "K, who the fuck is Tobey and why does he have a collection?"

Tyler smirked. "I actually have no idea. I'm guessing that it's drawings instead of some other kind of art. She's always more excited about the drawings."

"Does she draw?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. "All the time. Like, all. the. time."

That made much more sense. And apparently we weren't coming fast enough because she was there again, grabbing one of each of our hands and hauling us over to the start of the collection.

"These are great! And they were all in private hands before the Tobey's collected them. They range from the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries and are from all the centers of Italian art. The subject matter is _so_ extensive."

I whispered to Tyler, "She's twelve, right?"

He nodded, smiling gently. "She's really into art."

"Ya think?"

"Oh! Jusepe de Ribera! He continued what da Vinci used to do, and was interested in people with deformities. This is red chalk. Look at the detail! And this one! This is pen, but done by Guercino. This was part of a preparatory study he did for the lost painting of Sisyphus. A lot of critics say this doesn't have the same strength as other works because the definition is so poor, but I kind of like that it's not as defined. I like that the boulder is really the focus almost instead of him—you can't see his face at all and you just get a real sense of the myth, the weight of his punishment. His burden. For a mythic portrait, it really illustrates life drawing."

I was going to say it was nice, but that just seemed really fucking lame now. Tyler chose to stay silent as well. I waited until she seemed to be done with that drawing and then asked. "So are you into myths, too?" I jerked a thumb in Tyler's direction. "This one names people in his phone after myths."

She rolled her eyes, giggling. "No. I love the artwork about myths, a lot of it is really rich, but I find the stories kind of…far-fetched?"

Tyler made a scoffing noise. "They're _myths_! They're going to be far-fetched!"

She ignored him. I loved this girl. "It's just too unbelievable. That stuff never happens."

"It's not supposed to _happen_!" he chimed in again. "They're metaphors! They're not meant to take literally; they teach lessons! Allegories!"

The argument was over when she squealed at another exhibit; this one a special selection of drawings and prints by a bunch of other people I'd never heard of. I knew Michelangelo, because he was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, and Rembrandt—he painted shit.

This "special selection" had a lot of tomb designs and altars. It was actually kinda morbid, but Caroline was fascinated, and she talked very little as we walked through the exhibit, except for a few comments about how she loved Rembrandt's drawings. Sometime during, Tyler grabbed my hand, and when I looked over to smile at him, he wasn't even paying attention, which made me smile even more because that meant it'd been totally just something he wanted to do. Like it was natural. I smiled through the entire exhibit and I don't think I really took in any of the drawings after that.

~ooOoo~

I wasn't sure exactly how this was going to go when we dropped Caroline off at home. I mean, I figured Tyler would probably go in with her, but I wasn't planning on tagging along yet. Their house looked amazing, and pretty much what I expected: Brownstone, expensive. I was sure the inside would be amazing.

Caroline went up to the door and noticed that both Tyler and I were hanging back.

"You can totally go in, Tyler. I'll just wait for you."

"No, I'm good."

"You're not coming in?" she asked.

"Another day, maestro. I don't want to overdose her on Hawkins family members all in one day."

Caroline rolled her eyes at him a lot. This was no exception. "You're really not going to bring her in?"

He shook his head. "I'm really not."

"Mom's going to wonder why you didn't come in."

"Make something up."

She scoffed. "I'm not going to make something up! Why can't she come in? I know mom will love her!"

Aww.

"I know mom will love her, too, but let's wait for another day, ok?"

She whined, "Tyler!"

"Caroline!" he whined back. "Seriously. Another day."

She turned the whine onto me. "Don't you want to come in?"

I smiled. "I'm cool. Plus, you got to meet me first."

She went back to Tyler. "Can I at least tell mom about her now?"

He smirked and looked to me. "It's up to you. I've been keeping you all for myself. My secret."

"Um." Talk about being put on the spot. "I guess…I don't…if you want her to know." I shrugged.

He'd been holding my hand, and squeezed harder. "It was never that I didn't want them to know. I just liked having only me know. If you want it to stay that way, then it'll stay that way. Other than Caroline." He nodded to her. "She'll keep it if you want her to."

I sighed. Christ. "No, I mean… No, I'm ok with it."

Caroline squealed, and threw open the door, barreling inside. "Moooooooooom!" She ran back out quickly, nearly falling down the stairs, and ran up to me, stopped quickly, and then pretty much launched herself at me, her hands circling my waist, and hugged me. "I'm so glad I got to meet you. You're perfect for Tyler!"

And then she was gone again, the door slamming behind her as she yelled out for her mom again.

We stood there for a second and I was sort of…shocked was a good word.

"Pfft." I turned to look at Tyler, and he was smiling, but he was trying to look annoyed. "The fuck was that? Where was my hug?"

I smirked, shrugging. "Dunno. Guess you're just a loser."

"Totally. My own sister doesn't even pick me. Jesus." We turned and started walking down the street. "I give it five minutes tops, and then my phone's gonna ring."

"She's really great, Tyler. I'm glad I met her. I like her."

"Yeah, I think she's pretty great. I'm glad you got along."

"Was that a deal-breaker if we didn't?"

He smiled. "No, of course not. Just makes things easier."

Oh. Well. Then I wouldn't have had to be as terrified as I had been. I hadn't _really_ thought that, but people surprise you sometimes.

"Obviously she loves you," he added.

I dropped my head, shrugging. "I guess."

"In case the all-encompassing hug wasn't enough indication, I know my sister. She loves you already."

"She's fun. I can see why you like hanging out with her." I smirked. "Even with all the art."

He chuckled. "Yeah, she's gonna be quite the artist some day. Already is, actually. She'll have to show you sometime. Maybe we'll swing by the house soon and you can see her stuff if you want."

Subtle. I actually wasn't nearly as afraid of his mother as I had been of his sister. "Yeah, that'd be ok."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Because if you really didn't want to, I can hold them off. Caroline and my mother may make my life a living hell, but I can hold them off."

"No, it's ok. Soon." I nodded.

"Ok."

We walked in silence for a few minutes.

"You know it's, like, law now, right?"

"What is?"

"Our relationship."

"And why is that?"

"Because my sister has proclaimed that you're 'perfect' for me. And my mother always trusts my sister's judgment. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"Shit. And here I was just waiting until a better deal came along."

"Well, I won't hold you back. But you'll break a twelve-year-old's heart now. And my mother is very fragile. You've probably just made her decade."

And then his phone rang.

"See?" He silenced the phone. "I'm not gonna answer all the questions right now. I'd rather go home and remind you why you're perfect for me."

~ooOoo~

I felt kinda bad. My room sort of looked like a disaster area, and it wasn't like Jordan gave a shit, but I'd been in between my place and Tyler's so much in the last few weeks since I'd met Caroline that clothes just sort of stayed where they landed. Eventually I'd have to do laundry and give back all the shirts I borrowed from Tyler and never brought back. I (or we) hadn't slept in my bed for half the week, and I think we sort of went in streaks; we tended to spend a lot of time in one apartment and then switch it up, and never really had a reason for it. Maybe we were both trying to escape roommates. It wasn't like I didn't want to be around Jordan, or that things were off with us; they weren't; it was just different with Tyler.

I worked late the night before, and he had an early start, so I pretty much crashed on top of the clothing thrown all over my bed the minute I'd gotten to the apartment; and Tyler hadn't come over. When I woke up, I knew Jordan was home because I could smell coffee, and dragged myself to the bathroom to shower. I stayed as close to the shower wall as possible to avoid the cold blast of water that always hit before the water warmed up, and backed up when I thought it would be warm enough.

"Holy motherfucking shit!" was out of my mouth before I could stop it and I nearly jumped out of the shower. The water hadn't warmed up at all; it was like fucking ice water.

I didn't even stay long enough to wash my hair. I came out in just the towel, holding it together. "Do you know there's no hot water?" I asked Jordan.

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Yes. There's been no hot water for three days."

"Oh." Apparently the water heater was on the fritz again. And it had probably been that many days since I'd been here long enough to take a shower. "Three days is longer than usual."

She nodded, turning another page in the magazine she was reading. "Yeah, I'm thinking it's more than just a glitch this time. I'm thinking it's completely crapped out."

"You say anything to the landlord yet?"

"I mentioned it was on the fritz the first day. He hasn't been up. Lazy fucker."

"K, well I'm gonna go shower at Tyler's then."

"Must be nice," she mumbled under her breath.

I stopped my turn and watched her while she turned another page. "You wanna come along and shower?"

"Your boytoy would allow that?"

She said it so…meanly, I couldn't help myself. "You want the fucking shower or not?"

Her eyes cut up to me, but it was more in surprise at my answer than an actual answer itself.

I added, "Hey, the desperate can't be picky, right? Didn't you tell me that once?"

She sighed, closing the magazine. "Shit." She eyed me for a minute, but I just gave her a blank look with my eyebrows raised. "Yeah, ok, fine."

She went back to her room and I went back to mine to get dressed. I called Tyler before I came out, just in case he had a problem with it. I didn't think he would, but it wasn't exactly cool for me to just bring her over without asking.

He answered after one ring. "Hey, I missed you last night." He sounded out of breath.

I chuckled. "I missed you, too. Were you running?"

"To get the phone, yeah. I figured it might be you. How was your night?"

"It was ok. Work-like. What'd you do?"

"Took Caroline out to dinner. She complained the entire time that you weren't there."

"Aww. Well, next time."

"Yeah, because apparently I'm just boring now, or something. I'm not the brother or anything."

"I'm just new. She'll get tired of me."

"I haven't."

"That's good." I paused and then figured this was as good a time as any. "Hey, our hot water is out again. I guess it's been out for a few days. Landlord hasn't done anything about it, so I'm coming over to shower."

"You want me to talk to him?"

Aww, he was so sweet. "Nah, he'll fix it eventually. He always does. I have a favor to ask though."

"Of course."

"Well…Jordan hasn't been able to shower either for the last few days. You think it'd be ok if I brought her along so she could shower at your place?"

There was a short pause, and then, "Yeah, sure."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, 'course."

"Ok. We'll be there in a while."

"Ok."

~ooOoo~

"That roommate of his—with the fixation—he gonna be there?"

I chuckled. "Aidan? Yeah, probably. Although at this hour he might still be sleeping."

She made a noise; something that sounded like annoyed disgust, but I let it go. Aidan was harmless. It probably wasn't easy saying yes to this whole idea; she wasn't exactly a cheerleader for Tyler, but she seemed lately to be able to keep her opinions to herself. Mostly.

I bet she was secretly dying to see where I'd been staying. I never told her where Tyler lived really, so I assumed she thought the same thing I had when I'd met him—that he was a spoiled rich kid, and lived in some penthouse suite. Maybe her curiosity won out.

We chatted off and on while we made our way over there. Normal, boring shit, without her assumptions and snarky remarks. It was actually really nice—it felt like it used to.

I could tell she was already slightly annoyed when we got there and I didn't knock. I just walked right in. I mean, I'm not sure what she thought exactly, but I practically lived here half the time, so I wasn't asked to knock. Tyler met me halfway into the living room, and her second fit of annoyance was when he kissed me. Of course, by this time, Aidan was sort of lingering and being annoying, and his usual dumbass self, so it could have been that, too. He was practically drooling the entire time, despite her refusals.

It wasn't a long kiss at all. He was very… It was one of those affectionate ones. I was getting much better at receiving them, too. His hands went around me and lingered for as long as the kiss lasted and then we parted, and then he backed up a nice, close, but not all over me amount. "Hey."

"Hi." I smiled up at him, biting my lip. It wasn't that I was… I dunno what I was. I wasn't embarrassed. She was just different than the public, or Aidan. I wasn't sure why. And I think he knew—whatever it was, and that was why he met me and kissed me instead of the other way around.

"So, you've got water issues, huh?" Aidan asked her. I turned to watch this exchange.

"Yep."

"Do you care about the environment?"

"Uh…sure," Jordan said, looking to me.

"Great!" He clapped. "We can share a shower then—save on water, save the whales and Mother Earth and all that shit."

"Yeah, or not." Jordan shot him down.

"But…what about the planet? We all have to do our part!"

"Fuck the planet then," she said, shrugging.

"That is so rebellious. And Republican. Did I tell you I'm a Republican? GOP all the way. We have so many of the same values and interests. I throw trash out, just, wherever, all the time. The Earth has survived this long, ya know. Hole in the Ozone? Please." He waved it off.

She rolled her eyes and looked over at us again. "He like this all the time?"

"Yes," Tyler and I both answered together, smirking at each other.

Jordan rolled her eyes at us, too, shifting from foot to foot. It was time to let her off the Aidan drool-train. "C'mon, I'll show you the bathroom," I said, cocking my head for her to follow me.

As we made it down the hall, I chuckled hearing Aidan say, "I think she likes me."

Tyler scoffed. "Like a hole in the head." He smacked the back of his head. "Ass."

I gestured as we stepped inside. "Right—the bathroom. All the hot water you can stand."

"You wanna shower first?" she asked

"Nah, I'll just shower with Tyler after."

I got this look. The shift that meant our _normal_ from before was officially over. It was like a visible shift in her face from old Jordan to annoyed Jordan. "What?" I asked, probably harsher than I meant it, but I was getting really fucking tired of the look. Disappointed or suspicious like a parent that gave a shit. I'd told her before she was not my mother. And if she wasn't going to be supportive or friendly, then I wasn't doing this shit anymore.

"Nothing," she said, in that tone that was very much not nothing.

It's not like she was gonna let it go at that anyway. "No, what? Tell me then."

She shrugged. "Nothing, just… you obviously bit the bullet then?"

I sighed, crossing my arms, and shoved the door closed more. "This is like all we talk about now. Why is my sex life so important to you?"

"Because your sex life before this was really fucked up. You didn't really have one. Not a real one."

"This isn't like that."

"Need I bring up the catatonia? That wasn't that long ago. Has it happened again?"

"Ugh. No. And we haven't had sex yet."

She looked surprised. "Oh." She paused, and her face shifted again, this time to confusion. "Then what are you doing?"

I raised a brow.

"Just curious," she explained.

"We're basically in the 'everything but' stage."

"Mmm," she said, in this thoughtful way, like that meant something other than it did.

"The fuck does 'mmm' mean?"

"Nothing." She waved me off, taking shit out of her bag.

"What?!"

"Nothing," she repeated. "I guess now I'm just wondering what you're waiting for."

"Me. He's waiting for me."

"Then what are _you_ waiting for?"

I sighed. "I dunno. I just… I want to. I do. I have. For a long time. Maybe I'm gun-shy. I dunno. It never seems like the right time. Or I really want to, and he's so fucking patient and nice, and so _not_ what I've had. Maybe it's like performance anxiety at this point. I don't fucking know. I'm just not."

"That's not really an answer."

"I know."

"Does he ask for one?"

"No, never. He never pressures me. Or asks. Or tries anything more than what I want or what we're already doing."

"So…what exactly does 'everything but' mean?"

I gave her a look that very obviously meant _What the fuck? _I didn't think that was a hard thing to figure out.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, I mean, are you bumping uglies and just got no wick in your box, or what? What do you consider 'everything but?' Oral? Penetration? Anal? That could mean a number of things."

"Jesus Christ, Jordan. We haven't had sex. We haven't fucked. We've done everything but fucking. And you know I don't do anal. I suck his cock; he goes down on me; he puts his fingers in me; I jerk him off. We do it at the same time, all 69-ing it. We make out constantly and for, like, hours at a time. Everything that I never got before, I get from him. He pays attention to me, and grinds all over me, and wants to get me off all the time, and I want to, Jordan. I really want to. I want to for me, for, like, the first fucking time ever, but I want to for him, too. He's just… He's great. And I dunno what's wrong with me." I realized, I completely changed topics in the middle of that somewhere, and I hoped she knew was I meant.

She chuckled. "He any good at it?"

I sighed. "Yeah," the one word coming out in a long breath.

"Hours at a time, huh?"

I laughed, nodding. "Yeah, hours a time."

"That for just the making out, or all the other shit, too?"

"Pretty much all of it."

"Bitch."

I smirked. "He's pretty great."

"Yeah, yeah." She waved me off. "I mean, what are you afraid of? That he won't want to wait for you?"

I thought a minute and then shook my head. "No. I know he wants to wait for me. I just don't want to make him wait that long. And, I don't want it to be so long that he won't want to wait anymore."

"If you think he wants to wait, why do you think he's not going to then?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe because he doesn't know everything yet either."

"And?"

"And…what if that's just the last straw?"

"Then he'd be a real asshole."

I sighed. "Yeah."

"Do you think he's gonna bail when he finds out?"

I shrugged again. "No. I dunno. I hope not."

"Well, you can't let that be your reason—that you're afraid he's gonna run so you're just gonna have sex with him. It has to be when you're ready."

I nodded. "Right, yeah. I know. Thanks, for, ya know, listening to me ramble." I sighed. "I better let you shower before Aidan gets more ideas."

"Hey, thanks for the shower, too."

"No problem." Before I walked out, I added, "The showerhead detaches. Good water pressure, too. Much better than our building."

Jordan chuckled. "So the shower is included in 'everything but,' huh?"

I bobbed my head, but didn't really answer. "I may have left a few things out. Enjoy the shower." I closed the door before she could say anything else back.

Tyler wasn't in the living room where Aidan was becoming part of the couch, so that meant he had to be in his room. He was on the bed, back against the wall, writing something in his journal. "Whatcha writing?"

He smiled. "Just scribbling."

I cocked an eyebrow at him and stopped at the edge of the bed. "Scribbling about me?"

He shrugged, closing the journal and tossed it on the nightstand. "Maybe."

"Do I get to read it?"

"You can if you want."

His knees were up from where he'd been resting the journal and I straddled him to sit in his lap, leaning back against his legs. "I don't have to read it."

"It's quite chaotic. And probably nonsensical."

"Sounds just like you." I winked.

He smirked at me in answer before his hands came to rest on my hips. "You work tonight?"

"Nope."

"You staying here?"

"Yep."

"This is working out really well for me. Jordan hanging around for dinner?"

That was really nice of him to ask even after letting her use his shower. "I don't think so. I think she might work tonight."

"You wanna go out for dinner then?"

"Nah, I'd rather stay here. Can we order in instead? Watch a movie or something?"

"Absolutely. What should we get?"

"Sushi. What do you feel like?"

He groaned. "You always want sushi. You know I don't like sushi."

"You don't even eat the sushi."

"But I have to look at it. And watch you eat it. It's almost as bad." He was teasing me, a lazy smile on his face.

I pretended to pout. "Fine. What do you want then?"

The lazy smile softened. "We can order sushi."

I smirked. "You are _so_ easy."

He cocked an eyebrow back at me. "Oh, I am, huh?"

I nodded. "Yep. I was barely even trying."

"Hmm. So what would a great effort have been then, if you weren't even trying?"

"Well, I would have blown you, but Jordan's in the shower, and Aidan would hear us."

He laughed loudly. "We could have just shut the door."

I nodded. "Yeah, I didn't think of that a minute ago. But the time has passed, and you already rolled over. Sucks to be you."

I was smirking proudly until I was suddenly on my back, his upper body pressing me into the bed. With the way he moved, and the way we'd been sitting, my legs wound up wrapped around his hips. I pretty much wound up moaning up at him, too.

It was his turn for the proud smirking. "I think the tables have turned."

"Pfft, I'm still getting sushi."

He chuckled. "Yeah, of course."

"So what does this prove?" I curled my hands around his neck, fingers interlocking over his hair.

"Um…that your reflexes are slow when you think you've won?"

"But I still won. I'm still winning."

"Your point?"

I moved one hand from his neck to shove at his face. "You are so lame."

The minute my hand moved, his mouth crashed into mine. And I kinda didn't care about whatever the fuck it was we were talking about.

He backed up a few minutes later, licking his lips. "I'm thinking pizza."

"I'm thinking you're gonna be eating with Aidan."

"Ugh. I'd say get a room, but unfortunately, I guess this is your room." I turned my head towards the voice; Jordan was standing in the doorway.

Tyler's head had turned, too, but neither of us moved.

"Don't get up on my account," she said, smirking, holding up a hand.

"I hadn't planned on it," Tyler said back to her.

I sighed. "Kids. Play nice."

"She started it," he mumbled.

Jordan rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the shower. If the fucking landlord doesn't fix shit soon, you think it'd be ok if I borrowed it again in a couple days?"

"Sure," Tyler said quickly. "Door doesn't lock—It's always open. I'd say call first, but that's only because I'd hate for you to walk in on Aidan beating off."

Jordan laughed. "Thanks. I think."

Tyler shrugged, which looked really funny from the angle I was at. "Just give us a heads up when you wanna come over to use it."

"I will, thanks." She met my eyes. "Be careful."

I nodded. "I will."

Jordan turned and waved one before walking out.

"Can you shut the door?" Tyler called out after her, but she just kept walking. He waited until the door banged and she was gone before he called out, "Thanks!"

He dropped his head down again to look at me. "I think that went really well. She's totally warming up to me."

He was trying to joke, but the whole thing came out much more annoyed than I think he intended. "You think she'd be a little bit nicer because I'm graciously letting her use our shower even though she's a total bitch to me. And the fuck's up with that _be careful_ shit?"

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You already knew she was a bitch; ignore her. We were busy."

Thankfully, the way I was running my fingers down his chest was enough to distract him from that whole conversation, which was exactly my intent.

"Yeah? Where were we?" he asked.

"We were discussing how I was getting sushi."

"We were?"

"Yep."

"I thought we moved on from there."

"We can save that for later. I'm hungry, and we have to shower yet."

"Hmm. K, I think I have a solution."

I raised my eyebrows. "And what would that be?"

"I'll order you the sushi, and I'll order a pizza, and we can move the foreplay to the shower. Triple win."

I laughed. "Such a good problem solver."

He sat back, taking me with him, my legs still around his waist, my arms around his neck holding on, and just stood up from there, carrying me down the hall to the bathroom. Somewhere along the way, he pressed me up against the wall, his tongue pushing into my mouth with the kiss, and well, I didn't exactly protest.

"Shower," I mumbled around the kisses.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get there."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	29. Chapter 29

**************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

* * *

**APOV**

The weather had started making that turn from almost-summer to summer, with a few days of hell-is-just-a-sauna-summer mixed in. It hadn't been really bad, but enough that both of our apartments were hot and stuffy all day long. The only time it was better was at night, but that wasn't enough to keep either place cool all day. I hadn't realized it was the fourth of July until Jordan said something before she took off for the day. Tyler had left for work already, and had told me he'd call me later, so that meant I was stuck in the apartment all day without anything Tyler-ish to do. It was too fucking hot to think about Tyler, because that would have meant getting off, and while our shower was great for really hot days, it was also only one temperature of freezing cold, and it sort of killed all the fun.

I considered texting him, but that would have led to time in the shower, too, so I sort of just laid there in bed, baking in the heat, and eventually fell asleep for a while. Someone banging shit in the hall and the door to the roof slamming shut woke me up, and Jesus fucking Christ, couldn't a bored, roasting girl without her boyfriend to mess around with take a nap? Fuck, I bet it was cooler on the roof. In the sun, but more open. Why hadn't I thought of going up there?

I couldn't fall back to sleep then. I thought about going up to the roof to check out who was up there, but we weren't really social in this building. Fuck.

July fourth. Fourth of July.

I can't say I was ever a patriotic person. I mean, I've always been happy I wasn't born in a third-world country, but when you're basically on your own from a kid on, and all I saw was the shitty back-alley side of the world, I didn't really feel like celebrating our country being the greatest thing ever any day of the year.

Really, it just seemed like another excuse for drunk people to get drunker and call it a good reason. I think that was what most holidays were for.

I couldn't really even remember celebrating before. It had always just been another day, and a lot of years, I'd worked anyway, so it wasn't like there was time. I tried to think of a year when I'd done something for the fourth. I was near dozing again when the fuzzy memory came to me. Sneaking out of the house and up to the roof in… Fuck, where had I even been that year? Somewhere in Florida, because I was still younger than when I'd gone to the group home… The house had been some ugly shade of green, like an olive green. The roof was flat enough to sit on, and I think it'd been—fuck, what was his name? It was a foster home, one where the parents hoarded fosters, like they were collecting as many as they could because more kids meant more free money. Thinking back, I couldn't really complain; they left us alone for the most part. We had food and clothes; more than other foster homes. There was a wide range of kids, and only one kid near my age. I think I was about eleven; he was a little older. We weren't friends; you didn't really make friends in foster homes. Not if you'd ever been in one before. You learned that really fast. If you made a friend, you might lose them any day, so we sort of… I dunno, we hung out, we watched out for each other, but we didn't really know much about each other. It'd been his idea—the roof. I smiled, remembering…

My phone ringing woke me up; I'd fallen asleep again without really meaning to.

I fumbled for the phone, dropping it on the floor once before answering. "Fuck, hello?"

Chuckling answered me. "Fuck, hello?"

"Well it's not like anyone else calls me really. Or the ones that do wouldn't be surprised." I sat up slowly, the sheet sticking to me. "Ugh. It's so fucking hot."

"Yeah, it is."

"Are you done with work?"

"Um. Yeah, about that…"

I groaned. "Do you have to work late or something? I've been so bored all day. It's too hot to move and the sheet is literally stuck to me, and I really just want to get out of this apartment. Maybe I'll just come over and hang out with you and pretend I'm going to buy a lot of books. I bet it's air conditioned in there, isn't it? I've been baking in here all day and you've been in the fucking air conditioning." I was really whiny. Heat made me whiny.

"No, I've been outside for most of the day."

"What?"

"Yeah, I kinda lied about the working thing."

I _kinda_ didn't know what to say. "You...you lied to me?"

"Well…sort of."

"How do you 'sort of' lie, Tyler?"

"Well it's a holiday; the bookstore is closed today."

I didn't say anything. Why hadn't I thought of that? I would have thought of that before. Before him, I would have thought of that. What the fucking fuck?

"Why don't you come up? Are you hungry?"

"What?" Had I missed something? I didn't think he'd said anything when I was silent and wondering what the fuck he was lying to me for. He didn't lie to me. What the fuck was going on? "Come up? To your apartment?"

"No, silly, the roof."

Ok, now I was just really fucking confused. "You want me to come over to your apartment and go up to the roof? After you lied to me all day?"

He chuckled again.

"What the hell is so fucking funny? This isn't funny." There was a knock on the door. I was so pissed off at him I didn't even bother telling him that I was going to the door. Let the lying fucker wait. I pulled the door with more force than necessary, but I was hot, and whiny, and now I was annoyed and seriously pissed off. "Yeah?!"

Except Tyler was on the other side of the door, smirking at me with the phone to his ear. Shirtless. Wearing just a pair of khaki-colored cargo shorts. My mouth was open—I totally know it was. And I didn't even try to close it. I just kept staring at him. Because he was shirtless, and a little bit sunburned and his hair was plastered to his head, and looked more than a little damp. Pretty much, I just wanted to jump him right there.

"Hot out today, huh?" He was still smirking. He took the phone away from his ear and shoved it in one of the pockets of the shorts. "Kinda hot in there, too, I take it?"

He finally rolled his eyes and took the phone away from me, shoving it in his pocket with his phone, and grabbed my hand. "You got your keys?"

I shook my head.

He let go of my hand and nodded into the apartment. "Get them."

I dumbly nodded and grabbed them from the counter where I'd chucked them. He took my hand again and started in the direction of _my_ roof. He succeeded again—I was completely speechless. And I had no idea what to expect really.

He held the door for me and I realized when it banged shut loudly. "It was you!"

He stopped and looked at me, his eyebrows raised in question.

I pointed at him. "You were the one making all the noise in the hall and going up and down the stairs to the roof."

He nodded. "Yep."

"You woke me up," I said like a little kid.

He stopped again, dropping down a few stairs and took my face in his hands. Oh, fucking hell. He was so close, and he pressed his lips to mine, and my eyes instantly shut. He felt warm; warmer than usual; his skin hot and damp from the sun. He smelled so fucking good right now. I don't know if it was possible to smell like the sun, but he did; and just that, like, outside scent. I was still kinda pissed, and still confused about what he'd actually been doing up there, but for the moment, all I could think about was licking him. Licking the dampness from his chest, licking along his jaw. Fuck. His forehead was just as damp when he pressed that to mine, his lips lingering at my mouth. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I had a lot of stuff I had to carry up."

Yeah, I didn't really care anymore. My hands were already on his chest, fingers fanning out, rubbing the sweat into his skin. "It's ok," I said, completely shakily.

"Come on."

He dropped my hand when we made it to the roof, walking over to… There was a fucking grill on my roof. He'd hauled the table out, and there were two chairs around it; there was another lawn chair that was set apart from it; the tiki torches we'd stolen from the other building were next to it along with a boom box. At least three different colored extension cords ran along the roof going downstairs. There was already food out, and he had a cooler under the table.

"What?" I asked brilliantly, stopping after that one word.

"I'll admit two things right away. You already know I suck at cooking—grilling apparently isn't much better. And it's a really fucking stupid idea to grill in weather this hot. I had to sit down twice because the heat from the grill was giving me, like, heatstroke." He was smiling though. "The look on your face kind of made up for that, though."

Floored. I couldn't even begin to imagine where to start.

He shrugged, not seeming to be at all fazed by my lack of talking. "I just thought this might be nicer than trying to see anything from the ground." He waved his hand, but he was holding a pair of grilling tongs in his hand and it just looked really funny. "Ya know, with all the crowds and fighting for a spot and all that shit."

It sort of dawned on me then. "We're watching fireworks?"

His eyes cut over to me, the smile back. "Yeah, I thought—I mean, if you want to. I thought we could hang out up here, have dinner and then watch them."

"Can we see them from here?"

"This is actually a perfect spot. As long as the buildings don't get in the way—Hell's Kitchen, which is _the_ _perfect_ name for this place today, I might add, has one of the best views of the fireworks over the Hudson."

Huh. I didn't even know that. I was lost in thought, just kind of staring off in the direction he pointed, imagining the fireworks already, and thinking that I wasn't at all pissed off anymore. He was so thoughtful. And he hauled all of this shit up here in this heat just so I had a nice time. God.

He scared me a little when he was just suddenly _there_ with me, but I'd been so into my thoughts, he could have yelled on the way and he probably still would have freaked me out. "This ok?" he asked.

I nodded, leaning into him. I wondered if I'd ever get used to him doing shit like this, surprising me, turning me into an emotional mess, etc. etc. forever. "Thank you," I managed to get out.

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen dinner."

~ooOoo~

"Where did you get this grill?" I asked, surveying 'dinner.'

His mouth twisted in that way that meant he'd been naughty. "I…bought it."

"Bought it, huh?" I pointed to the grill. "I don't mean to be—it looks great, but… What is that?"

He took a deep breath and let it out quickly. "It was Aidan's stupid-ass idea, and I'm going to shove them up his ass the next time I see him. He had this _great_ idea about making skewers. _Fucking-fun-Fourth-of-July_ skewers!"

I giggled.

He was literally peeling one off of the grill. "But see, we did it in the apartment, like, over the stove, and this is _so_ not a stove. This is a living, breathing beast of flame, and I shouldn't have put the cheese on here."

I couldn't help it, I doubled over laughing.

"It was actually really good in the apartment! It was like a burger on a stick! I even toasted the bun! My mom always toasted them when she made cheeseburgers at home."

"Oh, Tyler," I said, looking at the sad, burned remnant of what might have once been a skewer.

He sighed. "Yeah, I think this one's had it."

I bit my lip trying not to laugh as I stood next to him.

He looked down at me and laughed when I looked up at him. "I have another package of hot dogs. I say another, because that was what the other skewers had on them, but those burnt a long time ago. You want a hot dog?"

I put my arm around his waist. "A hot dog would be great."

He handed me the tongs. "You wanna do this? I'll get the other stuff out. That way we'll actually eat tonight."

So I grilled the hot dogs and he set out entirely too much food for two people to eat. He went a little overboard.

The meal actually turned out really great. Some of the skewers really weren't that bad, and he was incredibly cute, because he and Aidan had no idea what went well together on a skewer, so randomly there was fruit on one and then a marshmallow, and then he decided those were dessert skewers and made a whole set. And they weren't half bad.

"Ok, seriously. Where did you get the grill?"

"Truth?"

"Yeah."

"It's stolen. Or I'm pretty sure it is. I bought it off of a guy in a neighborhood I will never take you to; basically off the back of a van. It came complete with that set of BBQ utensils, too."

I laughed. "Convenient."

"Totally." He got up suddenly. "Oh! I forgot. There's cake."

"Cake?"

"Yeah."

"Is that stolen, too?"

He shook his head. "No, I made it."

My head pulled up. "You made it?"

"Yeah." He shrugged.

"You made this cake?" I pointed to the cake that he sat down.

"Yeah."

I blinked. "This one?"

He poked me. "Yes."

"Seriously?"

"I think I told you I could make a cake. It's the one thing I'm good at in the kitchen. And I kept it in the cooler so it didn't get all melt-y and wilted in the sun."

"I'm kind of impressed." I turned the cake and craned my head to look at all the sides. "Does it have fruit and marshmallows in it?"

He scoffed. "No! That was Aidan! It's just confetti cake. Frosting comes in a can, you know. You can put the fruit on it if you want."

I tried a bite. "This is actually good."

"Well you don't have to sound _that_ surprised," he teased, smiling at me.

~ooOoo~

I was disappointed when he put his shirt back on. It was getting darker though, and cooler, and while it felt nice, there was also kind of a turn-around when night hit—like the cool air felt even colder because the day had been so hot.

He was busy cleaning up, so he wasn't really paying attention, and I could watch him completely shamelessly. Not that he cared, or hid from me, either, but it was just nice to be able to do it. He hadn't buttoned the shirt all the way; that was a plus. His hair curled more on the ends when he was hot. He baked me a fucking cake. I mean, it was kind of unreal.

His eyes caught mine, and he smirked, before ducking his head again and finishing. He was mine; I could do that kind of shit: stare and watch him shamelessly do something common and basic.

When he was done and he looked at me again, he had this excited, kid-like expression on his face. I smiled and raised both eyebrows in question.

"You wanna write your name with a sparkler?"

"What?"

He set a box on the table. "Sparklers."

I looked back up at him.

"Don't tell me you've never written your name with a sparkler."

"Should I have?" Was that an important rite of passage I missed?

"Pfffft, are you kidding me? You have no idea what you're missing. These are the only firework that Caroline considers 'safe.' Seriously, you've never had a sparkler?!"

"Well, I mean, I've seen them."

He started shaking his head. "Not even as—No, no, that's completely unacceptable. It's a good thing I got two boxes." He suddenly produced another box from somewhere. "Colored and regular white. You're gonna love them." He opened one of the boxes and handed me one, lighting the end with his Zippo.

I wasn't sure exactly what I was supposed to do with it. And just watching the end of it move toward me was sort of mesmerizing. I wound up just watching the whole thing burn. He immediately handed me another one and lit it. Like, if I wanted to, he would have just stood there lighting the whole fucking two boxes while I just watched them all sparkle their way to death. They were pretty cool. This one that he handed me was green. I looked at him, and he was smiling, but it was kind of a sad smile. When he caught my eye, it lost the sad look. "You like them?"

"Yeah, they're cool. How do I write my name?"

"You just have to move it really fast." He took another one of the box and lit it off of mine. And started waving it in the air like a fucking maniac. His name might have been in there somewhere, in with all the circles and squiggles and shapes he was making. "It's like a trick on your eyes."

Huh. Who'd have thought? The only thing I'd ever seen kids do with sparklers was run up and down the street screaming. No one I'd seen ever moved them around like this. It was neat. It was fun, too. I hadn't noticed that he sat down until I burned my way through several more of them. He was smiling, watching me, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he looked happy, and I kind of couldn't stop smiling myself. I hadn't really been a kid much. It was fun to do kid stuff, even now. Kind of felt like payback or something for all the shit I put up with.

"Where did you get these? I think we might need to get more."

He chuckled. "Well…I may or may not have had to go to New Jersey to get those. And I may or may not have bought them out of the back of another van."

"What?"

He shrugged. "Fireworks are actually illegal in New York. They're illegal in New Jersey, too, but we've been getting them for years regardless. People don't really get busted for it unless you're setting off bottle rockets from a roof or something. Or someone turns you in."

"Sparklers aren't really fireworks, are they?"

He barked out a laugh. "Funny, that's actually what my father used to say. Which for him was, well, I mean, he's Charles Hawkins; he doesn't do illegal shit. Or at least he doesn't do it unless it's questionable ethically and involves a deal, so it's technically legal, even though it's unethical. He always had that kind of shit when I was younger. And for Caroline. He set them off right on the sidewalk. Once he checked out, I still went and got sparklers and other little stuff for Caroline. But technically, we're breaking the law right now."

I sighed, laughing. "You're such a bad influence."

"I know, I know." He handed me a smaller box. "You're easily corrupted. Try these."

I might have squealed. "Oh, _man_! Snap dragons! These I've had before! I totally didn't even remember! Kids used to stockpile these when they were around in July and then keep them around all fucking year and terrorize other kids or foster parents." I flung one to the roof, laughing at the loud popping sound.

Tyler chuckled. "Save a few and scare the shit out of Aidan and I'll be indebted to you forever."

"I can _so_ fucking do that. We used to put them under toilet seats and wait for people to come out of bathrooms screaming. That'd be a good one for Aidan."

Tyler's smile was nearly breaking his face. He blew out a breath of smoke. "And I'm the bad influence?"

I shrugged, flinging one in his direction and giggling at the noise. "If we're bad together, does that make us good?"

"Definitely." He put his cigarette out. "The fireworks are gonna start soon. We're moving over there." He pointed to the other lawn chair. "I gotta get the music queued."

"Music? There's only one chair."

He made a noise. "You're sitting on my lap."

"Oh." I smiled, really happy about that. "Music?"

"You can't have the full Hudson River fireworks experience without the music."

He moved the boom box closer to the chair. The cord for it looked like it went down the stairs to the building. "Are those all extension cords?"

He nodded. "I panicked when the extension cords I brought didn't reach the outlet. I had to run out and buy three more to reach it."

I laughed. "How many do you have strung together?"

"Something ridiculous like fourteen. There are no outlets on this roof at all. I checked the entire thing. And the closest one to the roof is way down the fucking hallway. Every time a door opened, I thought it was going to be you and you were going to bust me all fucking day."

It suddenly dawned on me the entire… He had to carry all this shit up here. Not just the grill, but the food, the boom box, the cords, all this shit. How many trips had he made up and down just to do this for me? I waited until he was done messing with the boom box and when he stood up, I grabbed his face, and pulled him down to me.

"Hey," was all he said, really quietly, before his hands just wrapped around my waist and his eyes closed, kissing me back.

He made everything special. Even things that I didn't think could be made special.

I jumped when the first firework exploded in the sky and the boom followed. He tightened his grip on me, and I loved that he didn't stop kissing me just because they started. I stood on my tiptoes once he moved back, kissing him once more. "Thank you."

"Yeah, of course." He was smiling at me, happy, but surprised by my thank you, I think. He turned to start the music and then pulled me over to the chair to sit on his lap. My legs hung over his and dangled there while he enveloped me from behind. My head just automatically went back on his shoulder while I looked up. The air was cooler and he was warm and he felt so…comfortable. I couldn't stop the sigh that tumbled out, and I loved the way his hands tightened on my stomach in response, and the way he pressed a kiss to my cheek.

He wasn't kidding about the view. A few of the fireworks were blocked by buildings, and we couldn't see the really low ones, but otherwise, this was a perfect spot. And just us, too. There were six different sets of fireworks every time they set them off, all over the river. Big round ones that exploded right after and sometimes during another one; red, white, and blue all together. I really don't think I'd ever seen that many fireworks in one place. There were _a lot_ of fucking fireworks. Some kind of hung in the air and reminded me of a willow tree—those were almost calming. Some kind of looked like…well, cauliflower.

"Cauliflower?!" Tyler said, laughing it out in the same breath.

"Yeah." I nodded against him. "The shape."

"I don't think I've seen any cauliflower out there, but rock on, babe." I pinched him after that one.

Some went way higher in the air and looked like they were all 3-D coming at you, like you could just reach out and touch them, only to coolly spin out and slink away like worms. Some were shapes I'd never seen before, and shit that I didn't think could be in a firework, like hearts and flowers and star shapes. There were colors I'd never seen before, either. Most of the fireworks shows I saw before were pretty low-grade and usually didn't have anything other than red, white, and blue, maybe green if you were lucky. These started coming in purples and yellows, too.

"I like those kind," Tyler said after another set started.

I snickered. "The glittery ones, huh?"

"Yeah, glitter is totally masculine when it's in reference to fireworks."

"They are pretty cool. Sort of like stars twinkling."

"If I would have said twinkling, you would have just given me more shit."

"Probably, yeah."

Towards the end of the show, there were tons of tiny fireworks, and so much color that just hung in the air. Some kind of reminded me of Vegas; the shimmery lights, and they chased each other, all spinning out like lightening bugs I saw one time in Florida. Right before the finale there were bow-shaped ones and even smiley faces, which was just fucking cool. The finale was so loud, and there was so much smoke, it filtered everywhere like they were burning the fucking place down. Just cluster upon cluster of fireworks all together. It was pretty impressive.

We didn't move after it was done, the boom box still playing what I could only think to call marching music.

Tyler nuzzled my head with his chin before leaving it resting there. "So did you like them?"

"Yeah, they were great. You were right; it was a great view."

"Yeah, I liked the view."

I chuckled and burrowed farther into him.

"You getting cold?"

"A little."

"You wanna go in?"

"No." I shook my head against him.

"I brought a blanket."

I turned my head to look up at him. "Did you now?"

"I thought of everything."

I laughed. "I guess you did. Is this comfortable for you though?"

"We could lie on the mattress. I could bring it over here."

I elbowed him sitting forward a little. "Were you coming on to me, or telling me that cuddling here is not comfortable?"

"Well it's the chair. I should have picked a different chair. I just think it'd be easier cuddling on the mattress."

I didn't say anything, just kept looking at him.

He ducked his head a second. "And…if we happen to start making out or something, it'd be so much easier there."

"Uh huh."

"You gonna turn me down?"

"Of course not," I said, scrunching my eyebrows at him.

And I had to laugh when he all but dumped us out of the chair to get the mattress. He moved fast when he was motivated. Once he had it moved over, he flopped down and grinned up at me, hands folded under his head. "You gonna join me or what?"

I smiled and shook my head at him. "That was so romantic."

"Come on, gimme a break, I've been romantic all day."

I rested my head on one of his arms, smiling at his profile. "Yeah, you have been. Thank you."

I could see him smile, but his head stayed looking up at the sky. "You're welcome."

"Can I ask you a favor though?"

His head turned to me. "Of course."

"Can you turn off this marching shit now?"

He laughed and eased his arm out from under my head before he rolled to turn the music off. He rolled back and stayed on his side instead. "It's good for the ambiance but not so much for the relaxing after."

"Not unless we were gonna march around the roof."

"So how many fireworks shows have you seen, and how does this one stack up?"

"Ricky," I said suddenly.

His eyebrows went up in question. "Who's Ricky?"

"I couldn't think of his name before. Ricky. His name was Ricky." I smiled, rolling on my back to look up at the sky myself, dark and still a little hazy from the smoke of the fireworks. Tyler didn't push for an answer, and I let the noises of the city just wash over us for a few minutes.

"He was one of the other foster kids in this house I was at for a while in Florida. I must have been eleven, I guess. They were basically scamming the system, collecting foster kids for the cash it got them. I mean, it definitely wasn't the worst place I was ever in; they didn't really care enough to abuse anybody. We were just kind of on our own. They fed us and stuff, so it wasn't a bad place. There were a lot of other kids though, and only one kid that was near my age."

"Ricky?" Tyler provided.

"Yeah."

"And he was a good fourth of July memory?"

I shrugged. "He's pretty much the only other memory I can think of for the holiday." I paused, but Tyler didn't say anything else. I guess there wasn't really much to say to that. "We weren't really friends, but we sort of looked out for each other. There was usually some sort of drama in the house. With that many kids, there was gonna be. And I think he just wanted to get out. I remember he asked if we could go to the park to see the fireworks, and they said no. I'd gotten really excited about the idea when he said something, so I think he felt bad, too. I dunno, but he had this idea to sneak out, and we wound up climbing up to the roof because he thought we'd be able to see them from there."

"Could you see them?"

"Yeah, most of them. They were kinda far away, but we could see most of them, or at least part of them.

"You hadn't seen fireworks before then?"

"I'm sure my grandma took me. I think things were good with her. I think she was the best thing that I got, really. It just didn't last long."

"She passed away, right?"

I smiled. I always thought that term was stupid. Passed away? What the fuck did that even mean? It was just the nice way of saying someone had died. But Tyler was trying to be gentle; even the way he said it was sort of careful and hesitant, like he didn't want to upset me. It was probably the first time anyone had actually used that term and I wasn't pissed about it. "Yeah I think when I was about seven or eight. I don't really remember. I just remember being shipped off to my aunt, and she wasn't happy about taking me in. Sometimes I think that was probably worse than a foster home. Because she didn't care. I was just there. I wasn't her kid, and she didn't want me, and I knew that."

"But she was family," Tyler added for me.

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly back.

I flipped again so I could see him. He was always so sincere. "You don't have to be sorry. I wasn't telling you because I wanted you to be sorry."

His hand darted out and grabbed mine, squeezing it gently before his thumb started rubbing lightly back and forth on my knuckles.

"Did you see fireworks after Ricky?"

"Yeah, here and there. I mean, I didn't go looking for them. Vegas has a lot of fireworks, but they're not really big productions like this. More like just a few at a time. I usually worked, too."

"I'm sorry you didn't have good holidays."

I waved him off. "It doesn't matter. It's fine. I survived. They're overrated anyway."

He shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think they're overrated. I think you just had to underrate them because they usually sucked. And that's shitty."

I sighed, thinking about that for a minute. I probably did do that. "Yeah, I guess."

"So was this better than Ricky's or do I have to outdo myself next year?"

I smiled and pulled my hand away from his, cupping his cheek instead. "Tyler, come on. I mean, he was twelve. And he took me up on a house roof. Helped me climb up and everything. His was so much cooler."

He twisted his mouth, trying not to smile. "I see."

I giggled. "Poor Tyler, outdone by a twelve year old."

"Well, Caroline can run circles around me, I'm not really surprised." He sighed heavily. "It's ok. My ego can take it."

I scooted closer to him, nuzzling my nose against his. "Plus, Ricky had mystery. I didn't even know his last name."

"Oh, come on. I can't compete with that! That's so unfair!"

I shrugged. "Sorry. You can't win 'em all, Tyler."

He sighed again. "Well, did Ricky cover anything else? Did he have food made, and a cake? I bet he didn't have any cake."

"I don't remember cake, that's true. There might have been snacks though. Stolen, of course." I nodded.

"I bought that grill off the back of a van. It fell off of someone's front yard and into a van. And I bought illegal fireworks for you to play with. We could have burned the entire building down. That's so dangerous. I'm so much more dangerous. Admit it. I'm a badass and Ricky is just a kid with some candy that hauled you up to a roof to see half of a firework."

I made a big show of considering that before answering. "Well…I _guess_ it's… Nah, it's about even."

He tickled me then—until I nearly kicked him to get him to stop. I was breathless and red-faced and he was holding my arms up above my head, trapped there. He was smiling; a huge, amazingly happy smile, and his face was so close to mine. He leaned down once and kissed me, his eyes slipping closed. I forced myself to keep mine open. When he looked down at me again, I couldn't help it. "Ricky's kiss was better."

"Oh, fucking hell." He started the tickling again, and by the time he stopped this time, I was somewhere between panting and rolling us, and I could feel him hard against me.

He stopped my rolling; pinning me with his body instead, my arms still over my head, but his grip had lessened a little. His breathing was just as fucked as mine was, and he was still grinning at me, but then he got all serious, and I didn't really give a shit anymore. His mouth crashed into mine, hard enough that I thought our teeth were going to slam together, and our lips would come away bloody. Didn't stop me from kissing him back just as hard.

He let go of my hands, shifting to grind against me, and I couldn't decide if I wanted my fingers in his hair or on his body. So I pretty much just did both while our lips got all swollen. I felt hot again, but the air was cooler—it was a completely different kind of hot—one that usually only Tyler set off.

He pressed his forehead against mine and pulled back just enough so our lips weren't touching. "What do you want tonight?"

It took me a second to figure out what he was asking me; probably longer than it should have. But there was always part of me that wondered what _more_ I could actually want or ask for. Seemed like he'd done more than enough already. _But_! He also asked. So why the fuck shouldn't I be greedy? He was still watching me, a small smile forming, like he was starting to think I was coming up with something really odd to ask for. "Will you go down on me?"

He pressed his lips to mine once, gently, still smiling, fingers already dropping to start lifting my tank top. "Absolutely." I shivered as I lifted my arms so he could get it off, the temperature cool enough that I got goosebumps right away—or it could have just been Tyler, I didn't really stop to dwell on it. I started on his shirt buttons the same time he popped the clasp on my bra, and didn't even get to finish taking his shirt off before his mouth was on me again. But then his tongue was swirling around my nipple, and his shirt could just fucking come off later. I couldn't stop arching up at him because when he switched to the other nipple the cool air hit the one he'd just left, and it was already hard just from his mouth.

I jerked harder than I really meant to—reaction only—when his teeth closed on the nipple; my moan getting louder when he just followed me, and switched to sucking it harder. "Fuck, Tyler."

He backed up, still licking. "Too hard?"

"God, no," I panted, "just—" My hands landed in his hair and I started pushing him down.

He breathed out a laugh. "I can take a hint."

I hadn't really meant that he should… hell, maybe I did. It didn't matter because he was already licking and kissing his way down my belly. My hands stayed in his hair while he wrestled my shorts and underwear off; mostly because it gave them something to do, something to hang on to. His hair felt nice though, too. I liked the way it felt under my fingers. And I liked that I could almost feel more of what he was doing because I was connected to him that way, too.

He didn't have to even ask or motion for me to open my legs wider; I think it was automatic now—which made me smile for some reason.

His fingers followed the same path as his mouth, catching up, framing the sides of my pussy. I could never stop the way that my stomach clenched when his fingertips skimmed over my hips, his thumbs tracing the inside of my thighs. I was wet already; I could feel it. He knew it, too.

My hips arched just as automatically as my legs parted for him the second his fingers were parting me, and his head dipped to lick at my slit. The sound of his moan when he tasted me was almost more—the first feeling of his mouth was always amazing already—but the idea that he wanted to do it, that he liked doing it—I couldn't really figure out how to explain it, even to myself. It was something physical he was doing, but the moan made it seem like it was much more than that. I didn't know what word to call it, but that feeling—I hope he felt that, too, when I did something to him.

The vibration from his moan went right to my clit like it was a completely immediate reaction—like the two were tied together by an invisible string and my clit was burning and begging for him to touch it, or move his mouth there. I couldn't decide which I wanted more; his fingers in me and his mouth on my clit, or his mouth on me and his fingers on my clit. I knew if I asked, he'd do whichever I wanted, but it was almost better to just let him lead. The surprise was better. And he sure as fuck knew exactly what he was doing. He was so good at this.

To prove me right, he did both: his fingers moved to hold me open while his tongue pushed inside. There was no way to choose which felt better. Anything he did when he was going down on me was perfect. His tongue felt so wet, and hot, and he started so slow, pushing it inside me and lapping like he could get to every inch, and that's pretty much exactly what it felt like he was doing. And just when I'd adjust to one feeling, he'd completely change it up and then his tongue was moving faster and his fingers were tugging on my lips and it was so. _fucking_. good.

It was a really good thing New York was a loud city, because I really didn't hold anything back, we were outside, and basically anyone who wanted to could have heard me from blocks away. Because after all that goodness, he completely flipped the switch; his fingers were curling inside me, his mouth was sucking my clit into oblivion, and there was so much tension in my body, it felt like my stomach was a bunch of knotted coils that just kept piling up on each other, and it just kept spreading.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to clench my thighs around him more, or spread so he had even more access, but the tension was rolling there, too. It was an odd feeling to have so much heat and goosebumps at the same time. The coolness of the night air didn't help anything. I think it actually increased it. He was so warm. His hands, his body—his mouth was a furnace of heat, and I felt like my entire lower half was glowing with heat, too. The flush felt like it was coming in waves up my stomach and chest, but the air kept my nipples hard, and my fingers felt like they were falling asleep. The differences made everything feel tingly. Or for all I knew, it was all him. I had no doubt he was that powerful.

I came with my hips arched up at him, shoving myself back on his mouth harder than I meant to. It didn't stop him, or really seem to faze him at all, and just went right along licking and sucking and fingering me, even with me tugging fistfuls of his hair with my fingers. If that ever bothered him, he never said anything. I think he liked that he got me that far—that I felt like I needed something to hang onto.

I flopped back on the mattress, that weird feeling of half-exhausted/half-energized that seemed to settle after a really great orgasm. I always wanted to say shit to him after—I wanted to thank him for the really great night, for thinking about the fireworks and that he even thought about wanting me to get to see them—but I was never a words person. I didn't even know where to begin. How do you even start to thank someone for that? I knew what I'd say would just come up short, and it wouldn't come out at all like I wanted it to.

I could feel his cheek, all rough with stubble, resting against my thigh. His breathing was still a little fast, and I was sure he was hard. I kept one hand resting on his head, no tugging now, just combing my fingers through his hair. I cupped his head, picking my head up from the mattress to look down at him, but by then he was already moving over me.

He wiped his mouth at some point, but the minute he pressed his lips to mine, I could still taste me there. I couldn't put that into words either—how much of a fucking turn on that was. And that until we showered, he was going to smell like me. It kind of made me think of telling him never to shower. That way I could go places with him smelling that way like I marked him. I didn't even know what to do with those kinds of thoughts. I mean, I knew he was mine. There was no reason to fucking turn it inside out for all to see. And I never really wanted anyone to know my business before. I still didn't. But I liked the idea of someone else realizing that it was me that was all over him.

I started reaching for his shorts, getting the button open and the zipper down. I could feel the bulge there, and I didn't want to make him wait any longer. He took a second to press his forehead to mine when I snaked a hand inside his boxers. His eyes slipped closed and the shift in his face was amazing. I liked that I put that there, too.

I used my other hand to start shoving the material out of the way. It needed to be off. He used one of his to help me, the other needed to keep him balanced so he didn't topple over us. I don't even know how we really accomplished getting them off, but as long as they were out of my way, I didn't really give a shit.

His hand came back to rest next to my shoulder, making a dent in the mattress, while I kept stroking him. His forehead didn't move from mine; he liked the closeness. Maybe it was the closeness that made it sound like I was whispering when I asked, "What do you want tonight?" I meant to put more emphasis on the _you_ part. I was using his same question; I wanted him to know that I wanted the same thing for him. I wanted to give him whatever he wanted.

His eyes opened slowly, and I stopped the stroking, just holding onto him instead. He backed up a little, like he was considering his options, or was trying to figure out what I wanted him to say. "Whatever you want," I added, trying to take any question out.

He was struggling. And he didn't do that often. I got the impression he wanted to say something, but thought he couldn't—or didn't know how to say it. That was very un-Tyler-like. There wasn't anything he could want that I didn't want to give him. He wasn't looking at me directly anymore. I tugged on his cock to get him to focus again. "Anything you want," I repeated.

He opened and closed his mouth exactly three times before he actually started, and he was still struggling. "I don't—I don't know." He shook his head a few times, thinking before he blew out a breath. "I just want to feel you." It came out all choppy and not in a smooth sentence. He shrugged at the end; just one shoulder, just a tiny bit. But he looked incredibly…unsure. It wasn't really something new. It wasn't like I hadn't seen it before, but he was usually sure of just about everything. And I thought things had been good since his birthday. We'd sort of gone back to being normal. That had sort of set us back on track. I cupped his cheek to get him to look at me again. He needed to know that I wasn't going to chuckle at his request or suggest something else. What he asked for was incredibly simple. Whatever he meant by that, that's what he'd get. I just needed a little more to go on.

"K, what does that mean?"

I liked that he didn't look away from me this time, he held my gaze, but he didn't answer right away. And he looked away the second after he said, "I don't know."

I still had my hand on his cheek, and I forced him back again. "Then I guess we have to figure that out." I mean… I could do just about anything to him. It wasn't like I couldn't come up with shit to do. I basically had the history of sex acts as memories, so I could be creative. But I needed to know what he was looking for, and he didn't really seem to know. That was a really fuzzy and loose request. There was nothing direct to go on, or build from really. It wasn't like he said, _I want to feel you with your mouth_ or _I want your hands on me_—those I could make work easily. He needed help figuring out what the fuck he even meant—it was that unclear.

He looked lost.

"Ok, what do you want to feel? Is it just a part of me, or do you want me to use just a part of me on you?" That would help narrow it down at least.

"No…I just want you."

"You already have me. Do you mean you just want to be close to me?"

He considered that a second. "Yeah," came out in a sigh, but that wasn't the full answer.

"Do you want me to hold you?"

He shook his head once. "No."

I nodded once instead of saying anything. Something that allowed him to feel me…but still sexual. I thought of his birthday, and him asking to rub against me. That was something close with sex still included. It was different tonight though; we were naked, and he rubbing against me would be just that side of _too _close. So that same idea would maybe work, but he had to have some place else to thrust.

I tugged on him again, gentler this time. "C'mere. I have an idea."

He just let me move him, but I don't think he really figured out what I was suggesting until I actually told him to start thrusting. Because basically all I did was curl my legs around him, and just switch the direction of his hips for thrusting, positioning his cock in the groove where my thigh met my hip. It didn't seem at all like a good place for friction, but with my legs around him loosely, it was really a great spot. And just like his birthday, it was pretty much the motions of sex without the actual sex. I could pull him close, and hold him even if he said he didn't want that—he wanted it, and he looked less lost right away.

There wasn't really a way for me to get off in this position—and that was fine. I wanted this for him anyway, and I wanted to be able to focus on him. I wanted him to just be able to feel everything in general. So I made sure I kept my hands on him, pulling him closer until most of his body was touching mine in one way or another. I kept my touch gentle and unfocused—other times I would have concentrated on places that I knew turned him on, but I wanted him to be able to just focus on the feel of the thrusting without me fucking up his rhythm on purpose. So I kept my fingers grazing or holding onto him, no teasing.

It was probably weird, but I liked when he was focused on himself. He really didn't do it a lot—not in this same way; and watching him like this, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged, the way he leaned into my touch—this had been a really great idea.

I could tell he was close, and I realized if he stayed in this position, the come was going to wind up all over the mattress. For a second, I debated telling him to finish on my tits, but he would have had to change position to do that, and this seemed more…intimate, I guess. Yeah, that was the word I think I was looking for. While the whole coming-on-tits is hot, it's also super-porn-y, and kind of detached. I could save that particular suggestion for a different night.

So I thought he'd like it better if I stroked him through it instead and he came on me instead of on the mattress. Hell, if he shot far enough, some of it might have reached my tits anyway. There was a lot I could do with the come if it was on me, and I wanted that—like him marking me with it.

His breathing had changed, and when I looked up at him again, his eyes were open this time. He was watching me, waiting, but I wasn't exactly sure what for. He should have known he didn't need permission. Maybe he was just curious. My hip was so fucking wet; coated in his pre-come. I reached for him, pulling him so he was hovering over me, and then started stroking again.

Yep, good choice. His head dropped between his shoulders and the moans he was letting out—he sounded like he was really happy my hand was back on him. I loved how his body adjusted and kept rolling forward into my strokes.

I slowed my strokes the second his orgasm hit, moaning with him as come splashed over my stomach. I kept stroking until there was nothing left, and then just held onto him. My other hand went automatically in the mess of come, rubbing some into my skin and bringing some to my mouth. He made a noise while watching me lick him off of my fingers, and then his mouth crashed into mine while his body pressed down into me. I could feel his cock, still half-hard, still almost vibrating or pulsing from the orgasm, pressed right into the hair above my pussy. All I could think of as his tongue lashed at mine was that with one simple movement, he'd be inside me. I was wet again, or I'd really never stopped, and he tasted so good. Just one simple shift. How easy it would be. So easy. I think…I think maybe I wanted that. I wanted him to just do it; to take the questions and the maybes away and just fucking do it. I knew he wouldn't; he would never erase my decision in it—but I think I wanted him to. Just to be wrapped up in the feeling of everything, in the way he felt so _mine,_ covered in his come, his mouth gentle but still greedy, his body warm and heavy, my hands on his sides. My hips were rolling up into him already.

Just one simple shift. Reaching for him again would be so easy.

He was kissing my neck, his tongue licking after every press of his lips. His breath was so warm. It took me a second to realize that he was talking. "Do you wanna keep going?"

It took me even longer to realize what he was asking. Like he read my fucking mind. "I have a condom."

I think I might have actually jerked. I didn't mean to—but the reality of what I was thinking about was literally about to happen if I wanted it. And I wasn't sure what to say now. Because now it was _here_—_right here_.

He pulled back almost immediately. Not angrily or anything, but I could just see him shift. He kissed me gently and smiled, and grabbed the blanket we used when we were sitting in the lawn chair to cover us up.

He flopped on his back again, and I turned to roll into him, but I wasn't exactly sure what to say to him. I mean, I don't think he needed me to say anything, but _I_ kind of thought I should. Not an apology; he read me well enough to know that I was turned on, and obviously was having thoughts about continuing, but he also read me well enough to know I wasn't ready yet. I think it was more gratitude I wanted to express. A lot of guys wouldn't have stopped, or there would have been more said about it.

"You getting cold?" he asked.

"A little, yeah."

"Let's go in." He grabbed his shorts, leaving his shirt off, and left me wrapped up in the blanket. He dragged the mattress back under the cover, but seemed to be leaving the rest.

"What about the other stuff up here?"

He gave it a glance, but we were already moving to the door. "Eh, I'll worry about it later. C'mon."

I giggled suddenly, thinking how we'd been naked on this roof for half the night and the idea that anyone in buildings higher than mine could have gotten quite a show.

"What?" He opened the door for me.

I giggled again, and leaned up against him, pressing him into the door. "I just realized that any building around us could have had quite a view tonight."

He smirked. "Yeah, I guess they could have." He pressed a kiss to the end of my nose. "Is that a problem? Are you jealous that chicks all over this neighborhood could have been checking out the goods with binoculars?"

I tipped my head up, nipping at his jaw. "Nah, that doesn't bother me." And then I started down the stairs.

The door shut heavily, and he hurried to get in front of me on the stairs. "Wait, wait, wait. What exactly are you saying here?"

I shrugged, the blanket slipping off of my shoulder. "Nothing. It was just an observation."

He blinked at me, standing in the middle of the way so I either had to dodge around him, or stay right there.

I let my eyebrows go up. "What? They can get the same show if they come down to Big Eddie's. Nudity isn't really a hang-up of mine, ya know. Stripper," I provided needlessly. I gestured to him. "And you, they saw at best your bare ass, which again, does not make me embarrassed or anything. It's a nice ass. I'm ok with them appreciating it."

He blinked again. "So…wait, now."

I had to bite my lip. He was so easy to mess with.

"So…are you saying that you don't have a problem with other women checking me out, or are you saying that you don't have a problem with other women checking _you_ out, or are you saying you don't have a problem with other people in general watching us get off?"

I considered that for a minute. "Well, I mean, I don't have a problem with people seeing me in general—because I'm not exactly modest. And because of my job it's not really fair for me to say that other people can't look at you, either. People watching us—that I'm not sure of yet. I hadn't really given it a lot of thought until now. It's kind of a rush. The idea. Dunno, we'll have to explore that more later."

I'm not exactly sure how much of that he took in. He shook his head. "I'm still thinking."

I turned him around on the steps, and climbed on his back. "Then give me a ride while you think. I'm getting tired, and you think forever. At this rate, we'll be in this stairway until morning."

He didn't respond to my teasing, and gave me a piggy-back ride the rest of the way to my room. He eased me down when we were in the bathroom. "I should shower. I spent basically all day sweaty. You wanna shower with me? I got you all messy."

I shook my head. "You go ahead. I'll just wash it off while I brush."

He nodded once, mumbling about the size of the shower again. He _totally _wasn't remembering either, and I just had to let him do it—I think it was gonna be a fast shower. I tried to muffle the giggles that were threatening to pop out. Right before he shut the door, his head poked back out.

"How much of that were you serious about up there?"

I smiled at him warmly. "I'm gonna get some pajamas. I'll be right back."

"Allison!"

I poked my head back in the door. "'Bout half."

"Which half?" he called after me.

I just laughed.

"Fuck. Which half!?"

I heard the shower door click and he turned on the spray. I hadn't actually left the bathroom; I couldn't miss this.

He pretty much screamed like a girl. It was just a more manly pitch. And it was followed by, "Jesus Christ! Fucking hell, that's cold! Oh my _God_!" There was a lot of panted, grunted, disgusted noises after that—and I couldn't stop laughing.

I smartly used just a washcloth to get clean, and was already dressed for bed in one of his T-shirts and shorts, brushing when he stumbled out of the shower, shivering. I handed him a towel, smiling around the toothbrush. He sort of scowled, but I think he was too cold to really stay annoyed.

"I can't feel my fingers." He presented them to me as though I should be able to see that.

"Yeah?"

"Your shower is like the arctic."

I smacked his forehead. "That's why we've been showering at your apartment, dumbass."

"Oh, right."

I snickered, spitting in the sink.

"Why hasn't he done something about that? The landlord, I mean. Didn't you guys talk to him, like, a long time ago already?"

"Yeah, I guess it's ordered or some shit. He just keeps stalling."

"Seriously you don't want me to go talk to him?"

"No, it's ok. He'll do it eventually."

"So you deliberately let me get in that shower full-well knowing it was going to freeze my balls off, right?"

"Well, if nothing else, I figured you probably needed the cold after," I paused, pointed up at the ceiling, "I made you stop on the roof."

His face softened. "It's fine."

And like usual, I think it really was. He was being completely honest. "Thank you."

"Of course." He paused, and then moved forward, his arms framing me, pressing me back into the sink. He had me trapped—not that I wanted to move. "So which half?"

I snorted. "Subtle."

"Well, I thought it was a good time to bring it up again."

"The last half."

"The part about people watching us?"

I shrugged one shoulder, nodding, but I looked down.

He ducked to catch my eye-line. "No judgment. I'm just curious."

"I dunno. It's just…exciting? Or the idea of someone else knowing. Do you know what I mean?" I wasn't sure I even knew what I meant.

His smile was completely open and easy; no judgment, no teasing, no trace of him thinking that I was super weird for saying that. "Sure. I get that."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"K. I'm not sure what that means really. Or what I want from that." I ducked my head again, my fingers tucking into the towel now tied around his waist.

"S'ok. We'll figure it out."

He was still pressing me back into the sink, my body still trapped between his arms. He was the only person that I think could have done that to me and still made me feel comfortable, made me feel safe. His voice was soft, and when he said shit like that, it was always with this… I didn't really know what to call it. He wasn't some poser trying to get into my pants. He remembered. He cared. He followed through. It was like a quiet confidence—no bullshit—no lies—he was completely serious. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said, and he never made me felt stupid along the way. I respected the fuck out of that much honesty. It was rare.

I always believed that he'd come through because he'd never given me a reason to doubt him yet. So I flicked my eyes up to him and nodded, because there really wasn't anything else for me to say.

He kissed me quickly. "You wanna sleep now?"

"Yeah, let's go."

He brushed quickly, and I was already in bed by the time he got there. I tucked into him, and for some reason loved that his chest was still slightly damp from the shower—like coming to bed was more important than drying off.

"So…" he started.

My head was on his chest, his chin nuzzling in. "Yeah?"

"Was Ricky your first kiss?"

"Um…yeah, I guess he would have been. I don't remember there being one before then. So, yeah."

"What happened to him?"

"I dunno. I don't even remember which one of us got moved first. I think I did. It happened all the time; it was better if you didn't get attached."

"Were you attached?"

"Probably more than I should have been, yeah. It was hard when you actually liked someone you were in a foster with. But after you're in the system for a while, you know you won't be together for long ever. I mean I didn't even know his last name."

"That's too bad. Coulda looked him up."

"Right, like he'd remember me. We were just kids."

"Allison, I'm sure he remembers you." He didn't say that in that way that people do to make you feel better—he was completely serious. "I don't think anyone could forget you. I mean that in a good way." He squeezed me gently. "I bet he wishes he knew your last name, too."

I really didn't know what to say.

He sighed. "S'too bad, really. I'd like to thank him."

"Pfffft. For what?"

"Being your only good memory of Fourth of July up to tonight."

Jesus Christ. I sighed happily. "Yours really was better."

He wound up jolting both of us. "I knew it!" I laughed because he sounded _ridiculously_ excited, and vindicated. "_Knew _it!" He paused for a second before he added, "It was the sparklers, right?"

"Mighta been the orgasm." I paused for a second and then added. "Sometimes fireworks kinda look like sperm. Or like come explosion."

He busted up laughing, shaking us both again. "_What_?"

I made the motion in the air like the firework shooting into the sky and then followed it with my fingers splayed out. "Sperm. Come explosion."

He kept laughing and it was completely infectious. We wound up all tangled together, kinda breathless. "Well, now that's all I'll think of every time I see fireworks. Come explosion will be with me forever."

"Well! It does!"

"That was really hot, by the way."

"What?"

"Coming on you. And you licking it off. I can't decide which was better."

I smirked. "I thought you might like that." I was _really_ happy he liked it, though. I was glad I thought of it.

"Well at least Ricky never got that far."

I laughed. "Nope. Just a kiss. It was really more like a peck. He wasn't very smooth as I remember."

"I was way smoother."

"Oh yeah, totally. And the planning was better. You even had music. Ricky didn't have music."

There was another bit of silence before he came out with the zinger: "Wonder if his last name was Martin."

I burst out laughing, picking my head up to look at him. "Oh my _God, _you are such a fucking dork. Ricky Martin?"

He shrugged, smirking. "Just asking."

"It's a good thing you plan well, 'cause otherwise you got nothing going for you."

"But I'm so witty!"

"Uh huh."

I put my head down on his chest again.

"Wonder if they have record of that shit."

"What?"

"Well, of foster transfers and shit. You'd have access right? Because you were there."

I really never thought of that. There weren't too many foster experiences I wanted to remember, or look up. "I dunno. I guess?"

"Would you want to?"

"I'm not sure. What if he really didn't remember me? Or I broke his heart, and his life has been shit ever since?"

"You are pretty powerful," he teased. "I imagine your twelve-year-old self was a force to be reckoned with. Breaking lil boys' hearts, leading them on with your sexy stare."

"Ew, Tyler."

He chuckled. "Think about it. If you want. We can try to find him. If not, forget I said anything, and I'll just continue to make jokes about Ricky Martin."

I nuzzled my face against his chest. "Thanks."

I was just about asleep when he suddenly asked, "Wouldn't it be totally hilarious if his last name turned out to be Martin?"

I turned my head and nipped at him. "You're hopeless, Tyler."

"Eh. You love it. You'd be so bored without me."

"Among other things."

"Stupid Ricky Martin."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"He got your first kiss. I dunno. I'm kinda…jealous."

"He was twelve, Tyler."

"It doesn't have to be rational. I just have this image of him now—like some lil Latin-lover brat, making moves on my future girlfriend."

"I don't think twelve-year-olds think that far ahead. He was also white, and blonde."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Ok then."

"I'm not jealous of whatever girl was your first kiss—for the record. I don't really care. Because you're mine now. Are you gonna shut up now? Because I'm tired."

"No, I'm still kinda pissed. And her name was Heather even though you don't care. We were six. She kissed me in the coat closet before school started. I didn't ask for it. She basically planted one on me and then flipped her hair and just went out into homeroom like she hadn't kissed me. Then she ignored me for the rest of her life. She was a bitch even at six. It was very traumatic."

"I'll blow you in the morning."

He was quiet for a second. Considering maybe. "Ok. But if we meet him, I might kick his ass. I'm just sayin'. No promises."

"Ok, Tyler."

"If you're gonna get into that people watching us thing…and we do meet him…we could so do it in front of him."

"You're drowning, Tyler. The ship's going down."

"Ok. I'll shut up."

And for once, he did! Or he passed out. One of the two. I was surprised he was actually that talkative because he really had done a lot today—and most of it outside in raging heat. He was such a fucking goofball. Actually he was a lot of things. A lot of really awesome things. As I drifted off, I realized how lucky I was to find him. That wasn't really a new thing for me to realize that, but it was good to be reminded. I yawned through, "Night, Tyler," and pressed a kissed to his cheek.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	30. Chapter 30

**********************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter has some disturbing imagery and includes graphic content. I apologize for forgetting the disclaimer originally. When you're immersed in material, those things sometimes are overlooked because you're so familiar with it. **

* * *

**Chapter Thirty**

* * *

**TPOV**

There was someone in my room.

Someone that was not Aidan.

My first thought was to the lockless door that still graced our apartment that offered no protection whatsoever if someone wanted to break in and steal something. Or, ya know, more extreme, kill us.

My second thought was that thieves and murderers don't normally cry when they break and enter.

That could only mean it was one person.

"Allison?" Why wasn't she crawling in bed with me?

I had the window open and the curtains were never totally shut, so some light always spilled in my room along with the sirens and the traffic noises and the random people that yelled at all hours of the day and night. It was amazing that over all of that, I could make out not only her voice, but the sounds of her crying. She wasn't crying hard; it wasn't like a sobbing kind of crying, but it was enough that I could notice.

She didn't answer me and I struggled to wake and sit up. "Allison? What's wrong? What happened?"

She was standing over the bed so I reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her closer. I risked a glance to the clock; the last digit changed from a nine to a zero; it was 3:40am. She moved easily enough, sort of shuffling forward towards me and I threw back the sheet and the light blanket on the bed. She still hadn't said anything. I pulled a final time when she could have just knelt on the bed and she sort of collapsed into me, her arms wrapping around my neck and her legs shifting under her so she was in a ball in my lap.

Not how I saw this morning starting. I held onto her, letting her cry into my neck and moved back so I could sit against the wall and rock her slightly. "What happened?" I asked into her hair.

Nothing. Not in a talkative mood then.

That was not good for my imagination.

"Did something happen at the club?" I knew she worked tonight; that had been one of the reasons I slept here. It wasn't that I hadn't slept at her place when she wasn't there; I just didn't particularly enjoy hanging out with Jordan there. It was weird to take a shower and come out and have Jordan standing there waiting, or walk out to get coffee and find her reading in the kitchen. It was slightly less weird because she'd taken a couple of showers at my place, but in the long run, it was just easier to sleep at my place. We reached an agreement, I think, but we weren't gonna be hanging around alone together.

She didn't say anything, but she shook her head, her hair tickling my chin. Ok. Well, that eliminated about half of my worst nightmares. It wasn't a topic I brought up a lot, because it was a sore spot and she needed a job, and I had really no right to ask her to stop. But my imagination was wide, and if I could imagine shit that could happen, so could most of the assholes that came in there. It wasn't that they saw her naked; I could actually deal with that. She was mine when she came home and it didn't bother me as much as it did at first. It was what they could get away with and no one would bat an eyelash. It was the attitude that could come along with a strip club that terrified me some nights.

So if it wasn't at the club it had to be something else. "Is Jordan ok?"

She let out a soft sob but nodded instead into my chin. Ok. There really wasn't anybody else to ask about. There was that guy and his wife that sent the postcards, but... I doubted she would have gotten a call or anything about them at this hour. Shit. "What is it? What happened?"

She shook her head; I wasn't getting it out of her right now. So I resigned myself to the fact that she seemed ok. She didn't seem injured, not physically anyway, and not that it was any better, but it gave me a small measure of sanity. I just didn't know what would get her this upset.

She cried until it was nearly light out, her arms eventually getting tired and fisting in my shirt, the material wet under where she'd been crying for so long. She stayed all bundled in the ball in my lap, like the smaller she was the easier it would be for me to calm her. I gave up trying to make her quiet or tell me what had happened, trying just to soothe her, and even before she stopped, the tears had lessened and the noises—the sobbing, the breath hitching—had evened out. Her body kind of gave in then, I think, and she just went limp in my arms, and I adjusted her so she could sleep for a while, stretching her legs out and tipping her head back so her face wasn't smashed into my shoulder and neck.

I moved the hair off her face, some of the strands wet and clumped from the tears, and that's when I noticed the bruising. Jesus fuck. Was she mugged or something? There was a bruise forming on her temple and I tipped her head to see the cheek she was pressing into me was going to be sporting one, too. Her lip was split and it looked like her chin had a scrape on it, too.

I had to force myself not to wake her, the rage building now because someone had done this to her. And if it hadn't been at the club, then there was the possibility that she hadn't even known who it was. There'd be no one for me to take it out on. No one's face could pay if she didn't know who'd done it.

I'm not sure exactly how I made it through the hours until she woke. I think I devised every form of punishment for whoever did this several times over and could probably get away with their body being dumped in the Hudson, and not get caught with the detail I put into it by then. I kept reminding myself that she was upset and she'd come to me, and that meant I couldn't completely fly off the handle when she explained what happened or else she wasn't going to tell me.

She woke groggily, like it was hard for her to surface, and she groaned while she stretched against me. For a minute, she seemed confused that I was there. "Tyler?"

"Hey."

"What…" It dawned on her a second later when the cut on her lip pulled as she was going to ask the rest of that sentence. Instead her hand came up and traced her lip.

"Happened?" I finished for her.

Her eyes cut to mine and she flexed her hand and I realized that was bruised, too, so she hadn't gone down without a fight. That made me inexplicably happy; maybe they looked as bad as she did.

She groaned and sniffed once. "Nothing."

"Bullshit," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm even though my heart was nearly beating out of my chest already. "Tell me."

She shook her head. "I just needed somewhere to go. So I came to you."

I nodded. "Yes, you should. You should always come to me. I'm glad you did. But I want to know what happened. Who did this to you?"

She sighed. "You have to promise me you won't do anything."

"I can't promise you that."

"Tyler."

"Allison."

She sighed again, heavier this time and pulled away, out of my lap and sat next to me against the wall.

"Who did this to you?"

Her head went back to rest on the wall. "The fucking landlord, ok?"

"The landlord?" I repeated completely unnecessarily, trying to even come up with a picture of him in my mind. I think I'd only seen him once. He was a thin, balding man that always looked rumpled and probably was the kingpin of a kiddie porn ring or something.

"He was over a few times because of the water, remember?"

I nodded. Of course I remembered. That was pretty much the main reason Jordan and I had reached the agreement. She needed something and I was nice enough to help. I also attempted a shower there recently, and yes, it was really fucking cold.

"And why did he decide it was a good night to bruise the shit out of you?" I was so impressed with my calm tone because that was so not what was going on inside of me at the moment.

"I dunno. He just…like… I can't explain it."

"Well, try." That was probably less controlled than I wanted it to be.

More sighing.

"Start at the beginning."

"Fuck. I came home from work and he was there waiting. Jordan was coming home, but she was a while behind me. I left first. I didn't know he was going to be there but he was waiting by the door. No fucking idea how he even knew we'd be home then unless he'd been waiting there half the night or something which is even creepier for me to think about."

I agreed completely.

"So he made some small talk and said he got the part for the hot water heater and wanted to try out the water in our apartment because we had so many problems. And so I let him in."

She stopped here. I have no idea why. I think she might have been waiting for me to tell her how stupid that was or something, but he was the fucking landlord and should have been able to be trusted and I wasn't going to rag on her for anything when her face looked like that. I shuddered to think what the rest of her might look like and then had to take some deep, cleansing breaths when I started to consider what else he might have done that didn't include her face and I totally had to interrupt.

"He went into the kitch—"

"Did he do anything else to you? As in not to your face?"

Her breath hitched and I nearly hit the roof. As it was, my nail marks might be permanently imbedded in the mattress; that was if I had any nails left by the time she was done with this story.

"Fuck," I said under my breath.

"No, Tyler." She turned to me and started talking quickly. "I mean, I'll get to that. But… He didn't… I didn't let him."

I breathed out slowly, taking a huge gulp of air. The anger I felt was completely rational when I thought about the things he could have done to her. She seemed even more agitated now that I reacted that way. I looked at her, making sure she was keeping eye contact. Her eyes were all bloodshot and scared. Fuck. I reached a hand out slowly and traced the bruise on her cheek. "It wouldn't have mattered. I mean, his death would have been a lot more painful and much more drawn out, but this wasn't your fault. You know that right?"

She nodded but I didn't think she really believed me at this point.

"Keep going," I said.

"So he tried the sink in the kitchen and I dunno if I was just tired or just let my guard down or what, but he said since the shower was having so many problems, he should check that, too, and I dunno what I was thinking, Tyler." She started to talk faster. "I mean, it's all the same fucking water, ya know. If the water in the kitchen was fine, the water in the shower should have been fine, too, and so I just let him go into the bathroom and I went to my room, and I started changing and when I turned around, he was standing right there in the doorway.

Ok, this man was dying. There were no two ways about it. "He _what_?"

Her eyes flickered to me. "I think he watched me change. I mean, I shut the door or, ya know, as much as… I didn't shut it all the way." She shook her head, ashamed or something. "I didn't lock it or close it all the way, but I know I pushed it so it was mostly closed before I started changing. And then he was just there."

I started clenching my teeth so hard that I was giving myself a headache. "And then what?" How I was even managing these questions, I had no idea.

"Fuck. I dunno. Then he was just all over me and telling me I changed for him and that he'd knock some more off of the rent if I gave him a little on the side and we were already getting a good deal because the roof leaked and he'd been more than generous and I was teasing him and I don't… I hadn't been teasing him. I don't even talk to him unless we have a problem with something and then it's always really short. There's no way I could have been teasing him. I don't tease guys. I mean, that's just…" She sort of started rambling here and I think somewhere in the middle of it, I realized she was trying to convince me or something. Like I needed her to tell me that she didn't constantly lead guys on or make them think they were gonna get fucked out of the deal when she didn't even look at them much less interact with them. "I've never seen him in the club so I mean, it's not like he's seen me there and I don't even know how he knows that Jordan and I are strippers but neither of us… I just don't… I didn't tell him anything. I didn't say it was ok. I didn't ask him for more off on rent or tell him that I'd fuck him or blow him or… I had the door closed!"

"Allison." I grabbed her hand. "I'm sure you didn't do anything. He's just a fucking asshole. And he saw an opportunity. What did he do to you?"

She waved me off like that was an unimportant part to this story. "It doesn't even matter. I just. I don't get it. I didn't do anything. I didn't offer him anything."

I nodded. "I know, baby. I know. I know you didn't offer him anything. He took advantage of the situation. I want to know what he did to you." She sounded so lost. And it wasn't really in my normal repertoire to use terms of endearment like that; it'd kind of just slipped out in reaction to the panic and desperation that was in her voice. In fact, I could only remember one other time I'd used one at all, and it just slipped out that time, too. She hadn't said anything about it then, and I didn't know if that was because she liked it or hated it, so I hadn't done it again. So many were so extremely cheesy or ridiculous or tacky, and the connotations of some of them were far more suspect and just wrong and cheap. It wasn't like I expected her to say anything about this one now, either.

She just looked at me like she was confused.

"I trust you," I said.

She started crying again.

Fuck. Trust was a good thing!

I couldn't hear a lot of what she was saying this time; there were too many hiccups and catches in her breath but there was a lot about 'not wanting it' and 'not again' and thinking she'd gotten 'away' from shit like that and I'm not sure if she was really talking to me or herself or someone else or what, but I just held onto her and tried to keep telling her that she hadn't done anything wrong and it was all innocent and he was the fucking asshole that did everything.

When she finally told me, it all just poured out in a rush and I wasn't sure if she was trying to barrel through it for my sake or she was just trying to get it over with; probably both.

"He just tried to touch me at first. Like, he ran his hand up my arm and tried to touch my face but the way he was looking at me was just… It was so disgusting. And he wasn't even seeing me. He kept saying I was always teasing him and he knew I was a stripper and I don't even fucking talk to the cocksucker unless we have a problem and it's not like we leave the apartment naked with our tits taped. And then he started talking about my pussy and how good it was gonna feel and how much he wanted to be with me and he was sure I was good and would feel really good wrapped around him and when I started fighting it, it was like it all just got worse. He said he liked fighters and I didn't have to lie still and that made it more fun and I scratched him, like, tried to gouge his fucking eyes out, and he totally fucking gut punched me, and I couldn't fight then, and he was grabbing my tits and trying to kiss me and take my pants off at the same time, and I kept trying to move him off of me, and I was screaming at him and then he started hitting me because I was screaming and that wasn't being good and," she shuddered, "his hands on me were so fucking gross. Like, all clammy and wet and pushy and he liked hitting me. I could tell. I shoulda fucking known he was hitter. When he got my pants undone, he stopped to move them off and then when he went to undo his pants, I kneed him in the balls and then kicked him in the head for good measure before I ran out and came here."

I don't think she taken more than a few breaths through the whole thing. And I was kind of left reeling from not only flashes of all that fucking internet shit I read about the assholes who think they can get away with anything because someone holds a certain occupation but this wave of helplessness that washed over me; for her, for me, for both of us, and everything, was just monumental. The thought of what could have happened if she couldn't have fought him off and he'd fucking beat her up and raped her and then left her for dead, broken and bleeding if he hadn't killed her; I couldn't handle it. I couldn't even entertain that train of thought. Ever. And it was almost worse because I'd already figured out that she'd been a prostitute, and I could only imagine how something like this could compound on the experiences she must have had with that. And I had no way to know if things like that happened to her before on a regular basis. I just… No.

"C'mon," I said, lifting her up and grabbing her hand once we were standing. "We're gonna take a shower."

She looked at me for a second before nodding. Once we were in the bathroom, I turned on the water and let it warm before turning to her. She was just standing there, looking lost and tired and I kept fighting with myself; the wrathful Tyler wanted to just stick her under the spray and make a trip to her apartment building, but the rational Tyler knew she needed me here. She needed me to take care of her. But the way she looked, her posture and the defeat radiating off of her made me so fucking furious, I had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep myself on track. I approached her slowly, hugging her first and holding her for a minute before I gently started taking her clothes off. She just let me, watching sort of detachedly as I unzipped the navy blue hoodie that she'd stolen from my bedroom a few weeks ago. We never really talked about it. She'd given me a raised eyebrow a few times and I'd smiled in return, and that had sufficed as conversation on the matter. She borrowed shirts and shit all the time, and some never made it back, so her acquisition of this one hadn't bothered me.

"I like this on you," I said quietly as I pushed it off of her shoulders, hoping that it wouldn't have negative emotions attached to it now. I could always find her another one though. We could ceremoniously burn this one if she wanted.

She brought her gaze up, smiling gently.

"I have other ones," I said.

She nodded and I filed that away to get her one when we were done. Maybe I'd strangle him with this one or make him eat half of it. I could use the cord from the hood as a weapon…

I grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt, misshapen and already worn but now grossly overstretched from him. I bit my tongue again, trying to keep my face emotionless or at least keep the rage off of it. I pulled it upwards, skimming my fingertips along her sides and watched as her arms went up and the shirt came off over her head. I didn't watch where it landed because my eyes were roving over her body, categorizing marks that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen her. Her arms came down slowly and I fixed my hands on her hips, my thumbs rubbing gently over the skin there. Her hands came to rest on my arms and his fingerprints were completely recognizable. The bruises weren't bad; but the five-finger marks were indelible for the moment and their positioning was unmistakable. They were the hands of someone who was forcing and holding her down. I closed my eyes for a second because the images were just too much and I needed to remain calm for her. Indelible. I wondered how many indelible marks she had, but the completely insane thing was how ironic that was because most of her marks were completely permanent but totally unseen. A thought occurred to me that made my eyes shoot wide open and I bent to grab her eye line, holding her chin gently with one hand and moving the other to rest on her stomach. "Did he hurt you inside?"

She swallowed thickly. "N-no, he didn't get inside, Tyler."

I shook my head, fucking hell he would have been dead already if that would have happened. There would have been no cap on my revenge then. I wouldn't have waited. "No." I said that way too harshly because she flinched at my anger and I blew out a breath through my nose before I started again. "That's not what I meant." There, that as much calmer. "I meant when he punched you, did he bruise you inside? Maybe we should take you to the hospital." Why hadn't I thought of that before? Good God, she could be bleeding internally right now.

She smiled sadly. "No, I'm fine. I've taken a punch before."

That was not exactly reassuring. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "It's fine. Really."

I nodded back, pressing a kiss to her forehead but I would also watch her closer than I already was. I inspected the rest of her upper body, but it seemed that her arms had taken the brunt of his violence. The raging part reminded me that her face took a lot of the brunt, too, and I wished she would have let me get ice or something last night because her cheek was slightly swollen and her lip looked as painful as I remembered mine being. When I was satisfied that the upper half wasn't harboring anything life-threatening, I dropped to my knees and looked up at her. I'd looked at her like this so many times in the last few weeks, but the difference with this was so clear from the colors on her face, I found it hard to keep eye contact. Rationally, I knew there was nothing I could have done to prevent this, but there was still a part of me that felt intensely guilty because I hadn't been there to protect her. If I'd stayed tonight, if I'd slept there, this wouldn't have happened, and from now on, I'd just learn to deal with however uncomfortable Jordan's presence was. Her hands landed in my hair and stroked through the strands softly and I just pressed my face to her stomach for a minute and reveled in the thought that she was here and while slightly worse for the wear, she was ok. That brought me up short though and I pulled back too quickly and her hands moved immediately.

Her face was worried, and I knew from the look it wasn't concern for me at the moment, she was worried I'd thought of something and was angry at her or some other nonsense that I couldn't even fathom. Question lingered in her eyes.

It was sort of amusing, I suppose, that I found myself apologizing for some other asshole beating her up while kneeling in front of her as the bathroom filled with steam. "I'm sorry, Allison."

Question was replaced with confusion and her hands came back to my head, cupping my cheek. "For what?"

"For not being there. For letting this happen."

She lowered herself to my lap immediately, like one of those toys that Michael had when he was a baby. The kind that you pressed the bottom and the figure went all limp like the strings were cut and I wound up half sitting and half kneeling. "You didn't let this happen. You weren't even there."

How did this turn into her reassuring me? There was so much wrong with that. "If I would have slept there last night, I would have been there. It wouldn't have happened."

She sighed. "Tyler, you couldn't have known. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You didn't either. And I should have protected you."

"You can't always protect me."

Fuck. That. I met her gaze. "Watch me."

She didn't argue with me and that was wise. I dropped her gaze and instead she ran her fingers through my hair which was cheating because she knew it calmed me and I really didn't know if I wanted to be calm. I let her though, because I did. I needed to let this go and get back to focusing on her. I could deal with my own protective inadequacy later. With my fist in his face. I cleared my throat and looked at her again. "C'mon, let's finished getting undressed and get in the shower."

She stood wordlessly and I looked up again before I started on her pants, but her hands stayed in my hair and I could only describe the look on her face as fondness, which was just…whatever. I didn't want her to look at me with fondness right now. I wanted to erase all of this for her and then there could be fondness or something. Fucking hell, I just needed to get her in the shower. I popped the button and undid the zipper, slowly shimmying the pants down, grabbing her underwear, too. We were so burning all of this clothing. I stood quickly after appraising her legs and lifted her out of the pile before she could step out, and she rested her head on my chest for a minute before I set her down.

I told her all the time that she needed to let me take care of her and it was kinda fucked up that this was the situation that made her allow that, but I was incredibly grateful she was letting me because I think I needed to do it almost as much as she might have needed me to. I popped the clasp on her bra while she was still resting against me and she backed up to take it off. She said he'd been rough with her breasts and I was happy that the bra must have lessened the roughness because they looked ok. I stripped wordlessly and quickly, not letting her help because it wasn't about that and picked her up again, depositing both of us in tub.

Once we were under the spray, I leaned her back into me and let the water run over us. "We'll wash him away, ok?"

Her head turned toward me but she didn't say anything.

I ran my hands over her gently, no soap to start, just kissing all the bruises I could find and filing away their positions because that motherfucker was gonna get every one back tenfold. I couldn't erase what he did, but I could sure as hell try to erase the association, make a new memory.

I thought it was going pretty damn well. She was relaxing into me more and she dropped the lost and wounded animal look along with the guilt because there wasn't anything to be fucking guilty over. I kept telling her she hadn't done anything wrong.

I was being all supportive and shit and then I dunno, like, right in the middle of all of it, I was kissing her neck and then she kind of just went limp again and I had to react really fucking quickly or she would have been a heap on the floor of the tub.

"Allison?"

She was crying again, but this time like, deep, guttural, couldn't-catch-her-breath at all kind of weeping and I didn't know what the fuck to do. What did I do? Or didn't do?

We wound up a tangled ball on the floor of the shower as I tried to figure out what had happened again.

It was scary when she stopped. Because it was just like a switch. Like something inside her snapped and she just, stopped. Completely. "Tyler, I have to tell you something."

I wrestled her between my legs, holding her against my chest because I was worried otherwise she was going to hurt herself but she stayed perfectly still. It didn't even feel like she was breathing against me. "Ok."

She tried to pull away but I held her to me. She shook her head, "No, I have… I want to see you."

I let go immediately, my hands resting on my knees but she didn't move at all.

Whatever this was, it felt…huge. Maybe she wanted to look at me, but she wasn't gonna be able to. She didn't move at all. "Tell me," I urged.

She sighed heavily, the fog from the water rising around us. It was sort of ethereal, the whole atmosphere. There was resignation when she started, she pulled her legs up to her chest and held onto her knees. So she was with me, but, not. This set her apart from us. I was still there, behind her, but she'd pulled away, almost like she was protecting herself. "I haven't told you because…well, because I figured that'd be like the last straw."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I mean with the stripping and all the slowness with the dating and the sex and everything. I didn't want that last thing. I liked this."

Past tense was not good. Not good at all. "What do you mean liked?" I wasn't letting that one go.

"I mean, after I tell you this, it won't…" She sighed. "You won't…"

"Try me." I knew what this was already. And in a way, it was really good that I did. Because being blindsided with it after someone had tried to rape her, probably wouldn't have been a good combination. It still wouldn't have changed anything between us, but it just would have been a lot to take in in one night.

There was a hint of a smile at the edge of her mouth, but she didn't turn to me at all, still huddled around herself. "I… I… Fuck. I knew this was gonna be hard, but…" She trailed off and I just let her, giving her the space or whatever she needed to get this out. She took another deep breath. "Tyler, I used to be a hooker."

Yep.

She expected me to react badly to this. And I wasn't going to. It probably would have taken more effort if I hadn't already figured it out, but I already had time to reconcile this with myself. I had time to try to better understand her with that bit of information. So it wasn't nearly the big reveal she thought it was. She craned back to look at me. I raised my eyebrows. "Yeah. And?"

She shrugged, turning back. "And nothing. I was a whore. I fucked for money. Whatever. I sold my body."

"Ok."

"Ok? Did you not just hear me?"

"Yes, I did."

"Right. And you heard the part about the whore. Sold my pussy for money. Got paid to give blowjobs."

"I heard you, Allison," I said quietly.

"And…"

"And what?" I shook my head. "That doesn't change anything between us."

Her eyebrows pulled down. This was so not the way she saw this going. "But…"

"What did you think I'd say?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "I thought you'd be pissed. Dump me. Throw me out. Yell. Tell me what a dirty, horrible, awful, disgusting person I am, and you'd never want to be with me now."

I let out a breath. "I really hope you don't think that. About yourself, I mean."

I really kind of wanted to laugh at her confusion. "Tyler… I _really _don't think you understand."

"No, I understand perfectly. It makes a lot of sense and I already figured it out. So, it's not really a big shock."

"Not really a big shock?"

"No. I mean, I think you've been sort of leading me there the entire time. It all just kinda added up. I just didn't have the definite answer and I was never gonna ask. The hadn't dated thing. Only dated assholes and then it wasn't really dating. Didn't need to get off. Didn't have experience with a relationship. Always one sided. Never had a guy get you off. Never gotten off during sex. No boyfriends. Knew what it was like for people to sell themselves, true greed. I mean… I'm not the brightest bulb in the box, but the light goes on sometimes."

She snorted and I smiled.

There was apprehension, but a little bit of hope mixed in there, too, when she said slowly, "So… you're…ok? With this?"

"It's your past, right?"

"Yes."

I shrugged. "Everyone has one. I'm not going to hold that against you." I stopped and then added, "I have some questions, though."

"Of course."

"And, I mean, I want you to tell me whatever you want, but… I'd like to understand that part of your life."

"Ok."

"Can I ask you one right now?"

"Yeah."

"Why did you decide to tell me now?"

She shrugged, relieved _that_ was my question, I think. "I dunno. I think because the landlord thing just kinda brought it all back. I'll never be a normal girl, Tyler."

"You look pretty normal to me."

"No, I mean. Other people will never see me as normal. I must give off some used-to-be-a-whore vibe or something. That won't go away. For whatever reason, men think they can take what they want from me. They think because I was one, I'll always be one. And maybe they're right. Maybe I'll always be a whore because I was one."

"I don't think that. I didn't immediately think when I first saw you that 'Oh, she must have been a whore.' And that isn't true. You are who you think you are. You're only a whore if you still think you're one. I don't think that. I don't think that because you were one, you'll always be one."

"You're different." She shrugged.

"Maybe you just meet all the people that are different. Maybe I'm normal and all the ones you come across are just the lowest scum of the earth."

"And what does that say about me then? If that's who comes around me?"

"It means that you attract undesirable men but once in a while, you get a decent one. Not all the guys you meet are like that."

She shrugged again. "I dunno, Tyler. Men just always seem to think I'm usable."

"Well I'm a man. And I don't think that. This thing with the landlord was a fluke. You just happened to be there and he was like the other guys that think that way. It wouldn't have mattered if it'd been you or Jordan or anyone else. Some guys are just like that."

She shook her head, resting her head on her knees. "I don't think so."

I put my arms around her and I was happy she didn't pull away. I just held her for a minute and then started talking. "This is what I think. And I don't know everything, but I can guess. And I think because you were really young when this started, your entire worldview is made up of the worst possible scenarios because that's what happened to you. But it's not your fault. None of it is your fault. It's not your fault that the landlord wanted to fuck you tonight any more than it's your fault you got dragged into prostitution. And none of that changes how I feel about you. You're still the same person you were this morning." I stopped and sighed. "And I realize that you probably think that's all bullshit right now, but I'll just make it another one of my missions to make you see things my way."

She chuckled and I smiled, squeezing her.

Her voice was small when she talked again. "I just think at some point, you're going to realize that I'm just not worth all of that. That it _is_ me, that I'm just some…damaged girl that you can't fix, Tyler."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was gonna need to read more psychology shit. "I don't think you're damaged. Why would you think you're damaged?"

She scoffed, but she didn't change her tone or raise her voice. It was all resigned, like it was just fact. No emotion behind it. "Tyler, c'mon. I mean, the things that I've done or things that have been done to me, it's not… I'm not… It takes something from you."

I realized she was probably going to tell me the things she'd done and the things that had been done to her and I was going to have to listen to that and just be supportive and understanding and try not to put my fists through walls because they couldn't do it anymore. So. Much. Psychology. Deep breaths were becoming the norm here. "Then we'll figure out how to get it back."

"I don't think you can get it back."

"Well you got me, right? And you think I'm normal. Why would I be here with you if I didn't think you weren't worth it?"

She faltered for a minute. "I… I dunno. I don't think it'll last. I think eventually you'll leave."

I didn't stop holding her but I did move a hand and pinch between my eyes for a second. "Allison, I'm not going anywhere. If you just told me this really huge thing that you thought was gonna send me running, and I'm still here, that must mean I'm in it for the long haul, right?"

She shrugged.

"Well I'm not going anywhere, am I? I haven't run yet."

"I know."

"So, logically, it would seem then that I'm not going to."

More shrugging. It was incredibly frustrating when she shrugged. "Did someone tell you that? That you weren't worth it?"

She chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah, all the time."

"Have I ever said that?"

"No."

"And if they were all assholes and I'm normal, then who's right?"

"Maybe you just can't see it."

"Ugh. I see you. I can see you." I ran my hands up and down her arms. "There's nothing here that I see that I don't like or I don't think is worth it."

"I don't know what it is about you. That confuses me, too. That you'd wait. That you'd want to for me."

I thought about telling her about love. About how I didn't really know what that meant. I mean, I knew what it meant to love family and to lose that, and that I hadn't really ever felt that for another person. Or how you can hate someone you love and then that just got my train of thought on a whole tangent that she didn't need to hear right now because she'd probably think I was referencing her or something, and in reality I meant my father, and holy fucking Christ, I needed more. psychology. Love. Stick with love. I'd thought about that a lot in the last few weeks. If I was being hopelessly romantic, I could easily admit I'd loved her from the first moment she blew me off in the bar and challenged everything I said, making it incredibly difficult and infuriating to talk to her. If I was being realistic, I could still easily admit that I loved her. I wouldn't have done all this shit if I didn't care and if that wasn't some type of love, then I didn't know what it was at all. It was so much more than just patiently waiting to get laid. I cared about what it would do to her. That it was something she needed time to work up to or be comfortable with. I just cared about _her_. Everything else was window dressing. So I could tell her that I loved her but that seemed almost cliché to do right now. Maybe I could tell her instead what I loved about her without telling her that I loved her directly. Telling her directly right now would probably confuse her more if she couldn't even see why I'd want to wait to have sex with her. That was just decency, really. Anyone decent enough should want to wait for their significant other to be ready. The alternative would have made me her goddamn landlord. It would have made me not only a dickhead, but basically a rapist as well. But telling her what I loved about her would at least give her examples that would help frame the picture for her.

"Allison, none of this may sink in at the moment because you're stubborn." She let out a soft chuckle. "But I'm still going to tell you." I tightened my grip on her. "First of all, normal, decent men will wait. It actually has nothing to do with their girl's personality or their past or anything. The fact is that a nice guy won't even need to know why you want to wait. That's just what's right. If the girl says no, the guy stops. Flat out decency. If I didn't want to wait for you, that would make me shallow and selfish and I would obviously only be after sex and nothing else. I'd be like your landlord."

I waited a few minutes, letting that soak in before I continued and reached around us to turn the water hotter. It was sort of fitting I suppose, that this entire conversation was taking place in my shitty bathtub with the water droplets falling around us like we were out in the rain. Blessedly, my building didn't have hot water heater issues and because the tanks serviced the entire building, we rarely ran out of hot water.

I placed my mouth right next to her ear, maybe then the words would filter in through the stubborn web of denial and self-esteem issues. What was weird was that she was an incredibly self-assured person normally. She didn't take any shit from anyone and she didn't have a problem speaking up or speaking her mind or telling someone to fuck off. She really didn't present as a person that had self-esteem problems. It was just when something like this, when something like the landlord brought her back to a time before she was self-assured or before it really mattered, that things like this came about. I'd seen glimpses of course, times when her confusion over something I did made it evident that her life had been so much different than mine. Evident because they were normal, everyday things to me; things that didn't need reasons or descriptions behind them. She hid a lot. She hid her insecurities because showing them had always meant disaster before.

"I think you're worth it and you don't have to understand or see why I think so. A lot of times, I can't understand why _you'd_ want to be with _me_." She was going to speak up here, but I made her button that shit up for the moment. "Shut up. This isn't about me." I smiled when she clamped her mouth shut and smiled against her knees. "I'm not looking for you to stroke my ego. I know I'm patient. I try to be a decent guy, but I come with enough baggage, too. And it's always easier to understand something outside of yourself than see it in the mirror. But whenever I look at you, you're worth it."

I cupped my hands over hers on her knees. "You're beautiful." I quickly added because there was going to be protest or rebuttal, "Shut up." There was a smile again. "You're beautiful." And I paused, letting the water beat down for a few seconds before I kept going. "You're smart." Pause. "You're funny." Pause. "You're an excellent cook." She chuckled. "I love your body." I pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "You have a great ass." That one got me another chuckle. "You have the most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen." I felt her sigh. "I love to hear you laugh and I love when you laugh and it's because of me."

She still had the smile on her face so I knew she was listening, but her eyes were closed. She looked incredibly peaceful and it was such a rare thing that I had to stop for a few seconds. I squeezed her gently before I continued. "I love your smile and I love the feel of your lips when you kiss me. I love when you're sleeping and your hand fists in my T-shirt. I love feeling your breath over my chest. I love how warm you are and how half of your body is always thrown over mine when we sleep. I love the way you eat a sandwich."

"What?" she chuckled, her eyes opening.

"You eat your sandwiches outside in. You eat the crust first and save the middle for last, but not if it's a burger. If it's a burger, you just eat it all the way through."

"You're so fucking weird."

"Yep," I agreed. I sighed. "I love that if I've had a shit day, all I have to do is see you and I feel better."

"I love when you yank on my hair when you're coming and I hate when I'm so into it that I miss watching your face. I love that you trust me because most people assume I'm not capable."

"I love the way you take care of me and don't even realize you're doing it but I'm grateful you do and that you try to let me, too, even though I'm shit at it."

"I love the feeling of being with you."

"I could keep going, but it really doesn't matter how many things I come up with. They're all real and true to me, and the only one that can make them true for you, is you. But I'm not wasting my time and I wouldn't if I didn't think you weren't worth everything." I let that just hang there for a little bit and I knew she was crying, but they were the silent kind of tears.

"I really could have gone on for a bit longer, but my ass is numb and I really want to stand up."

She burst out laughing, picking her head up from her knees and looking back at me. That one smile was monumental.

"Can I wash him away?"

She nodded slowly.

We stood up and I started with her hair, working the shampoo in until she was sighing against me. I loved the feel of her skin under my hands, the way it was even slipperier with the soap. The way the white suds would cling to her skin and my hands and the way the water would wash away all evidence that the soap had been there. I wished I could do that with the bruises, too. Even if I couldn't erase the physical traces, this seemed like a cleansing anyway, making things fresh for her, some sort of renewal by water.

I ran my hands down her arms, slick with soap, my thumbs lingering in the bends of her elbows before moving down the rest of her forearm. Her left arm had a scar on it, a rather large X right below the elbow on the inside. I'd come across it before of course, many times, and I'd lingered there before, but I only asked her about it once, and it'd been on a night when she'd told me a few other pieces of her past and I didn't push it. It was an ugly scar. Misshapen but so distinct that it had to be deliberate. It was older, but still very visible.

"What's this from?" I asked gently.

Her gaze followed mine, and she answered quickly with little emotion. "Last foster dad I had before the group home."

I ran my thumb over the bumpy mark. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Not sure really. I don't remember doing anything."

I shook my head and pulled her closer. "Allison, nothing you did should have warranted this. Ever."

She turned to look at me. "Things in foster homes don't always go the same way they do in a normal one."

"Well, things in normal homes don't always go that way either, but that's not an excuse."

"I'm not excusing it. I'm just telling you."

"That's awful."

She shrugged again. "Wasn't the first time. It was the last though. I was labeled problematic after that home. That's why I went to the group home."

"Problematic?" I chuckled, turning that word around in my head for a while and wondering what she was like as a kid. "How old were you?" I asked, my thumb still rolling over the mark.

"About fourteen I think."

"I'm sorry." I leaned down and pressed a kiss there.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, her hand curling around my neck as I let her arm go.

"I'm sorry it happened to you. I'm sorry everything happened to you."

"You don't have to be sorry. I've told you that before."

"Well, I am. And I want you to tell me about every one. All the scars. I want to know all the bad things, too, because then you don't have to carry them alone."

"How can you carry them for me? They're mine."

"You remember when I told you about Michael?"

"Of course."

"I hadn't felt that…" I sighed, struggling for the right word, "light. I hadn't felt that light in six years. People know about it, sure. But they don't know what I feel about it. They don't know that I still have nightmares about it. Telling you, knowing that you knew, even if you couldn't _do_ something about it, it made me feel better because I wasn't alone anymore. You couldn't fix it for me, but I shared it with you. And I knew that you cared about me enough to do whatever I needed you to. This is the same thing."

She took a deep breath.

"And, I have a new memory to go with those now, too. So if I have a day where I'm thinking about Michael a lot and they're not fond memories, I think about you holding me that night and then it's better," I shrugged. I had no idea if that would make sense to anyone else, but it was all I had.

She nodded. "Ok."

I ran my thumb over her cheek gently. "So today, I'm going to carry these. Everything he did to you. Those are mine today. So if you start to think about them, or him, remember the shower and remember me holding you last night and then let me know if it works."

She nodded, and I finished washing her in silence, letting my hands move over her skin and talk for me. There wasn't really anything else for me to say anyway. I held her for a while after the washing was done and she always seemed so small when I held her. The way she fit under my chin and took up literally half the space I did.

I turned the water off and lifted her out of the tub, wrapping her in a towel and rubbing her dry. I let her wrap up her own hair cause that shit just wasn't happening if she wanted in any sort of orderly fashion. I'd tried that with Caroline one time and had to listen to her scream for an hour while my mother combed out the knots. Never again. While she finished I grabbed a towel for myself and dried off quickly. I ran it completely haphazardly over my hair before tying it around my waist and picking her up again.

"Tyler, I can walk. There's nothing wrong with my legs."

I smirked. "I'm taking care of you. That includes delivery service."

I carried her into my bedroom and kicked the door shut before depositing her on the bed. I leaned over her, resting my body over her and kissed her gently. "I'll get you something to wear."

Her hands darted out to grab onto my shoulders. "Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you for something?"

"You can ask me for anything. Anything. Whatever you want. Whatever you need."

"I want you to fuck me."

Honestly, not what I was expecting. "Now?"

"Yeah."

"Right now?"

There was a small smile. "Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure this is the right time?" The strictly selfish part of myself really didn't want to ask questions like this, but it was completely necessary.

"Yes."

"Can I ask why you think it is?"

She touched my cheek. "I know it is."

"I'm not trying to tell you it's not. I just want you to be sure. And for the right reasons. I don't want it to be as a reaction to what happened. That wouldn't be right." And I told the selfish part to shut the fuck up.

She nodded, her fingertips playing at my jaw. "No, it's not because of that. I mean, I'm sure that has something to do with it but it's not the reason." She paused and looked up at me. "It's because it's my choice. Because I want it. For me. I haven't wanted that before. I've never wanted it for me. I want to feel you. I want that. With you."

Jesus. I mean, I had so many conflicting emotions here. Of course I wanted to have sex with her. Now. Before. Whenever. I think I reached a point where _not_ having sex with her seemed impractical—that's what had happened on the Fourth of July. She asked me what I wanted, and I couldn't articulate a scenario that didn't include wanting sex with her. I wanted it in the scope of our relationship; I was completely happy with her, but it didn't change me wanting that. I wanted the one thing I couldn't have—and she came up with a great solution. She also solidified that she wasn't ready then. Now it was here, and I was… I didn't know what word to even use. Honored? That she wanted that with me. That she came to that decision. And in some odd way, I wanted to make sure I was worthy of that, too, before we agreed to just barrel into it. Not that we would have in any way been barreling into anything; we'd been doing other shit for months. Everything but. I just didn't want her to make this decision and regret it later. Something had to be different now. And instead of talking to myself, I should have just been asking her all of that shit.

"I just… I don't want you to have any regrets and realize later that this was the wrong time."

She touched my face. "It's not the wrong time."

I had another thought. "You don't think that because you told me about the hooker shit that it means you have to do anything, right? Because I don't care about that. And I'll wait for however long you want. It's not an acceptance thing. That's not what this is."

"No, I mean… I guess if you wouldn't want to have sex with me now, I'd wonder if it was about that, but… No. I mean, I just… I know I want it now. And everything is good with us, I think, and I mean, I've been tested and… Please, Tyler?"

I shook my head. Christ there was a lot in that those few sentences. "You don't ever have to beg me, ok? Never. But I'm not going to fuck you."

Her face fell. She looked crushed. "What? Why not? You said anything."

I ran my hand over her cheek and kissed her once. "Fucking is for later. I don't want that for your first time."

She was confused. Her brows pulled down and she was going to say something else.

"I'll make love to you though. Would that be ok?"

She let out a huge breath, like she'd been holding it all night. "Fuck." She let her hand fall from where it had been digging into my neck. I suspected there would be nail indents there but I hadn't stopped her. She kicked me. Completely ineffectively because I was lying over her, but she kicked me. "Fuck, Tyler. I thought you meant you were turning me down."

And it probably all rushed forward. I probably should have handled that a little differently. Or less cheesy. I smiled. "I wouldn't do that. But I'll fuck you some other time."

"Ok. That's a promise then."

"Oh, hell yeah it is."

She giggled.

"But not this time. I want to take my time. Show you what it's supposed to be like. Make it good for you."

She got this look in her eyes sometimes, like she'd reached her limit and couldn't handle any more and she had it now. It was like she could only take me being really decent for so long before the bar got pushed too far and then she couldn't believe anything else. So I needed to just show her the rest and stop talking.

Then she started giggling.

"What?" This warranted no giggling. This was serious shit. Serious love-making about to occur. No giggling!

She waved me off, which was amusing because I had most of her trapped beneath me and it was sort of just a hand flap. "I'm sorry. You just look so fucking serious."

I chuckled and I'm sure my face lost most of the seriousness. "Well, it is serious. I'm being serious."

She giggled. "I know. I'm sorry. I just…" More hand flapping and giggling.

I snorted and backed up a little, giving her some space so she could turn her hand flapping into real waving. She looked completely ridiculous, laughing her head off on my bed all wrapped up like a taco in a towel that did not match the one turban-ing her head and I couldn't stop the smile that broke out, or my own chuckling because…just because. It was a very _her_ thing. To be all serious about everything and completely bust up laughing.

She wiped tears from laughing away and pulled me back to her, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad." I think I said that slightly more petulantly than I wanted to.

"It was just your face," she tried to explain.

"Oh, that's just what a guy wants to hear before sex. It's just your face made me bust up laughing."

She burst out laughing again. "That's not what I meant!"

I smiled and covered her mouth with mine and she abruptly lost the laughing, a single surprised sound lost in my mouth and then she moaned when I rested more of my weight on her. That was one of my favorite sounds already; it had been since we started messing around. Just the simple sound of her moan and knowing that it was something she liked, something that made her feel good. Her arms went around my neck and I spent quite a long time reinvestigating her mouth.

None of this was new. There was really only a small part, well not small, but in the grand scope of all things sexual, the part we hadn't done was pretty small, but kissing her and everything up to it; that wasn't new. But this felt completely different. Maybe it was just the significance of what I knew we were going to do. Or that I wanted it to be different and special for her, but it all felt different.

I broke away from her mouth, trailing kisses over to her bruised cheek and let my hands start wandering as I backed off of her. I couldn't keep kissing what I couldn't see. I hadn't really been on the bed all the way, so I just dropped to my knees on the floor and slowly unwrapped her from the towel. Her skin was still pink and flushed from all the time in the shower and she put her arms up and out so I could unwrap her completely, her breasts shifting with the movement. I let my eyes roam over her body first, smiling gently and I kind of felt like this was the sexual lottery or something. Because she was all for me. And this was sort of backwards because I wanted it to be for her and it all seemed to be very much me in the winner's circle.

I moved back up the bed and her legs parted to give me access and when I tore my gaze away from her body long enough to look up at her face, she was watching me intently.

"You're beautiful."

I don't think she believed me a lot of times when I said that to her, but it wasn't a statement she'd never heard. It was just one of those mirror things—you never saw what someone looking outside-in did.

I moved up until I could kiss her again, her skin pressing into my chest as I descended. "You're beautiful."

She nodded this time. "You are, too."

Her voice was kind of shaky and I smiled. "Thank you."

I reached up to the towel on her head and shook her hair loose before starting up the kissing again. Her neck, her collarbone—I made sure I traced both ways while her hands landed on my shoulders and kneaded up to my head. Her fingers fisted and her chest rose when my mouth landed on a breast, sucking the nipple to a hard peak while I let my other hand palm over the roundness of the other. Her breathing was spotty and labored, and I don't think she knew she did it, but every time I paid particular attention to her breasts, her lower half was constantly squirming against me like the sensations were just too much for her not to make some movement. I loved her breasts and I made sure she knew just how much, making sure my mouth switched and gave each of them ample attention, the other hand always palming or kneading or twisting her nipple until she'd buck her hips up against me. Finding what she liked in bed wasn't any different than finding what she liked anywhere else. She liked when I sucked on her nipples but wasn't particularly fond of me pinching them. Rolling was good and if I nipped at her with my teeth, she'd tug on my hair.

I licked my way down the valley between her breasts and back up again while still kneading them with my hands. I loved when her hands would fall on top of mine and we'd knead together. I moved my hands lower, running my thumbs over her ribs and settling them on her hips while I blew air over her nipples and loved the way her back arched and her eyes squeezed shut. I kissed my way down, swirling my tongue around her navel and dipping it inside. Once I was that close, I sort of skipped the rest, her legs were squeezing against me, hips rocking and she blew out a breath when my hands kneaded her thighs and my mouth closed on her clit.

"Aw, fuck, Tyler," rolled off of her tongue before her whole body shuddered and her hands went up to her own hair, combing roughly through the strands until she pressed her hands against the wall. Maybe that was the alternative to yanking on my hair.

Her chest was still heaving, breathless and she hadn't really finished the first one when I started tracing her folds with a finger. Wetness. Pure wetness that was just for me. Her clit was completely swollen, her lips puffy and flushed, legs falling more open for me before I even asked, like she was unconscious of it. I would never get tired of seeing her like this.

I traced around her clit, but not over it, and her body squirmed wanting me there. A long moan slipped out of her mouth when she realized a little too late that I wasn't going to stop. Her hips were still undulating from the last orgasm as I pushed two fingers easily inside her heat and curled them up, knowing the rubbing would get her there again quickly. Her legs trembled with another orgasm, her body jerking and her hands moved to her breasts, kneading and teasing the nipples for something to hold onto and more sensation.

I became keenly aware but refused to acknowledge the hardness that was throbbing against the uselessly flimsy towel, begging to bury itself in that wetness. I groaned imaging sinking into her while her muscles were still contracting and wondered a little late if I shouldn't have jerked off first because I refused to have her first real sexual experience end in a few thrusts. I wondered how fast I could do that and not have her notice. Or I could just indulge the fantasy and let the towel take the orgasm. Good plan!

So I would just make her come again.

Orgasm three didn't really require anything else; I just combined everything, lowering my mouth to her and lapping at the flowing wetness, loving her fingers as they started to dig into my hair. I licked up to her clit, sucking it the same way I had her nipples, while pushing two fingers in her first, and then adding a third, twisting them and opening her up. If she hadn't had sex in a while, I wanted her to be as ready as possible.

All the while, I let my dick throb along with her motions, not attempting to staunch the release I felt building. When she fell over the third time, her thighs compressing against my head; I just let it happen, the groans from my own release just ramping her release more, and I had enough time to wipe away the release before she was through.

Her orgasms always seemed to last longer the more she came. Now her face was completely flushed and she had a satisfied and lazy, happy smile. She reached for me, pulling me up with her fingertips under my jaw when I was close enough for her to touch me.

"Please," was all she said, her voice gravely and still laced with shakiness.

"You're sure?" One last check.

She nodded, tracing her thumb over my cheek. The clarity in her eyes was completely undeniable. She wanted this and I really wanted to give it to her. I nodded back, moving us up on the bed so we were both actually on it and had enough brain power to roll over and grab a condom from the nightstand drawer.

She surprised me when she grabbed it from me and basically tore the foil and had it on my cock before I even knew it. She smiled at me and she didn't look scared or nervous and I couldn't believe that in this moment, it wasn't completely right.

"Nimble fingers," I said, smirking as she lay back against the pillow and I moved back between her legs.

She grabbed for me as I leaned over her, and I rested some of my weight on her while I pressed my forehead against hers, and enjoyed the feeling of her hand around me.

"You ready?" I whispered, my own voice getting close to completely fucked because what I'd been thinking about for months was literally just about to happen.

She nodded, letting me take over and I lined myself up before coming back to watch her. I needed to see her eyes because that was the only thing that was going to tell me I needed to stop. And if stop _wasn't_ going to be there, I wanted to watch her face more than I wanted to watch myself enter her. No contest.

Her legs were open and framing my hips as I eased between her folds and pushed the head inside. The minute I started to push forward, her legs started hitching higher and her head pushed down into the pillow as more of me disappeared inside her.

I can't accurately describe the feeling. The heat that surrounded me instantly and the warmth my whole body felt were two completely different concepts—the pressure of her walls, the feeling of her muscles on my dick, fluttering and squeezing me and stretching all at the same time to allow me in until there was nowhere else for me to go.

Her eyes never left mine, and her mouth was open on a breath the entire time, but my breathing didn't restart either until I was fully sheathed inside her. It seemed like only a second, and yet a million had passed, too. And all I wanted to do was do it again. Part her lips and feel her body shift to accept me, and close around me again and keep me there.

I gave her a minute to adjust before I pulled back, both of us groaning at the withdrawal. I pushed forward again, just as deep and instantly loved that she seemed to like that most, too. I started a slow rhythm, and dropped down to my elbows so I could kiss her, finding it hard to know what to focus on. The minute I dropped, her hands that had been pressing against my chest hugged around my neck and back instead, and then I didn't want to pull back anymore. I shifted her legs so I could stay in that position, and made sure there was no part of her mouth and neck that wasn't covered with mine. Her legs wrapped around me and the deeper I thrust, the more her hands scrambled all over my back and I never wanted it to stop. I never wanted this feeling to stop.

Part of me wanted to be talking to her; telling her how beautiful she looked, and how good she felt completely wrapped around me, how much I liked the heat of her all around me, and loved the way she kept repeating my name, how wrongly adorable I found it when my name became synonymous with half the swear words in the English language, how I wanted to do this to her all the time, and how I'd pictured it being just like this, how I couldn't imagine how people wouldn't have wanted to treat her this way, to share this with her, and how I'd never make that mistake. But the more I pushed inside her and the more she clung to me, the more I realized that we'd never really needed those words anyway. I think she knew I loved her, or had some kind of concept. Even if I'd never uttered the words because I thought it'd freak her out. And I think, if nothing else, being with me had shown her what love could be like, what it was supposed to be about. Because words didn't always make things right for her, but I could usually show her, and this was no different.

I was eternally grateful to whichever part of my body had thought of the whole jerking off thing, because the sounds she was making were enough to fill masturbatory fantasies for several lifetimes. And every time she grunted when I bottomed out, or she started squeezing my dick while raking her nails over my back, I wanted to let go, but I was determined that she was either going to come first or we'd come together, so I kept pushing it back.

I wasn't exactly going for slow, I just wanted her to have a full experience. One that wasn't about fucking right to climax or getting off as quickly as possible. I wanted something that would build until she broke. I didn't really think I could get much closer, but I shifted a bit more weight on her and she moaned like taking it on was the best fucking idea I'd had yet, and I realized it was because when I thrust, she could push her hips up and get friction for her clit. So I stayed there, her head resting on one of my hands while the other curled under her shoulder and it felt a lot like I was holding her.

I was really glad that she found the friction because I could feel her body starting to tense and that was an awesome thing because I was not going to be able to hold on much longer.

Coming with her was nearly inexpressible, ineffable, incommunicable, incredible, and completely indefinable. I've never felt anything like it with anyone before in my entire life. And it felt transcendent and sacred watching her come, watching and knowing that it was the first time she'd ever come while having sex just made everything else pale in comparison, even if I was aware of my own.

There was genuine surprise on her face when I could tell it started. Her whole body went completely rigid for a second, her head pushed back into my hand and her nails dug into my shoulders and then it was like watching the floodgates open, and her muscles clamped on me and then started contracting and releasing. The tremors going through her and the full-body experience of the orgasm was amazing.

Her emotions were predictably (to me, anyway) all over the place. Along with the surprise, there was confusion and anger as well, and I figured that she'd come to realization that this vital part of her other sexual experiences—literally every single other one she'd ever fucking had—had been lacking, and it was sort of the whole point to everything. I couldn't imagine how incredibly frustrating that would have been, but I suppose at an early point that just became standard and accepted, and if you're not anticipating it at all, then you're not really missing out. Mostly though, there was just bliss and satisfaction, and she looked pretty fucking happy. I was happy about that because having her think about her past during this was counter-productive (probably for both of us).

I felt like some sort of empyrean fire had ignited in me when she kept clinging to me like her orgasm was somehow directly connected to her hold on me, or mine on hers, or she just needed grounding. She looked beautiful; her face flushed and her hair damp, afternoon was just breaking and it was sunny out; it looked like a nice day. The room wasn't intensely bright, but there was enough of the sunlight filtering in to make the marks on her face seem even darker and more prominent. They looked worse during the day. She still looked just as beautiful—maybe even more so. She looked kind of scared as everything lessened and the waves were slower and less intense. I was already curled around her, but I tightened my grip and leaned to kiss her gently. Something on her face made me want to tell her again about love and that I thought that's what this was, but it would've been too much right now, probably even worse to say it now.

Instead I kissed her again and whispered, "You're so beautiful."

Her breath hitched and she pulled me down to her, not concerned with my weight, her arms around my neck. Her breathing had slowed but it was more ragged than it had been and I added, still whispering, but this time in her ear, "I've got you."

Her grip tightened and I think everything just kind of broke, and I'd sort of anticipated this. I pulled out of her gently and rolled us, holding her while she cried. I kept whispering to her, and I can't even remember what I said anymore, but it was enough to calm her until she was just resting on my chest.

Her head bent up, her chin digging into my sternum and I moved the hair out of her face while smiling at her gently. "You ok?"

She nodded, her chin digging back and forth.

"You hurt?"

She shook her head.

"You wanna talk?"

Another headshake. She watched me for a minute; I wasn't sure what she was looking for, so I didn't say anything.

She bit her lip for a second and then brought her hands up to rest her chin on. "Can we do it again?"

I snorted; not exactly what I thought would come out, but it was ten times better than anything I was imagining. I nodded. "Yeah, of course. You stay on top this time."

Famous last words.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	31. Chapter 31

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

* * *

**APOV**

I never really understood what the big deal about sex was. Really. I mean, I had it more than most people probably ever had it, in more ways and positions and weirdo fucking shit than they could imagine, either. A guy got hard. He put it in. There were a few motions and it was over. What was the big deal about that? It was over before it even started. There was panting and grunting and some muscles tightened and then…it was done. It was over. Big fucking deal.

I was wrong.

I was so wrong.

I was so unbelievably wrong.

But then I never had Tyler before either…

We had sex four times. He was sleeping now, sprawled out on his stomach, his head turned towards me, mouth open a tiny bit. I was sitting with my back against the wall, and I was just sort of left thinking about the greatness of it all. It sort of seemed unreal; like I wasn't sure it had really happened. The entire night had been such a clusterfuck of a mess. To have it end this way… I just hadn't thought this would be the way this whole thing would turn out.

He was adorable when he slept, and he was sleeping really hard right now. He hadn't moved at all since we finished our last round, not even when I kept running my fingers through his messy hair. It came to a peak right at the nape of his neck, and I couldn't seem to stop my fingers from playing with it. I think we lost the blanket sometime around rounds two or three, and all that was left was the sheet now, tangled in sections around one of his legs. His other leg was almost hanging off the bed; his arms were stuffed under the pillow, under his head. I smirked as my eyes started to take in the view, wandering from his arms, drawn to his bare back, freckles and birthmarks making a zigzag pattern down until they disappeared after the dip in his lower back. His ass was seriously distracting. Inviting. Fuck, he was attractive. Strong thighs after the perfect ass. I couldn't decide if the thought of my hands on his ass, pulling him forward into me was more distracting, or the thought of his thighs pressing into mine, forcing my legs wider as he went deeper. Both, I decided. He needed to wake up soon.

Never imagined that this would be what I would be thinking about now. Hadn't planned to be smoking my way through his cigarettes, wired but incredibly happy and satisfied. Not a few hours ago. It seemed like it'd been a much longer time span since I ran out of my place. I think I was on auto-pilot, like a zombie, all the way to Tyler's apartment. I don't remember anything being in my mind but the idea that I needed to get to Tyler.

It wasn't that I thought he'd make everything better, even if he wound up doing that. It wasn't that I thought he even could; I just needed him to hold me. And that I had anywhere to go at all was a first. I never had that before; someone I could go to that I knew was going to be there for me. Someone that cared. Someone whose opinion of me wouldn't be fucked over completely by what had happened.

He was always unexpected. And I was still surprised by that. He wasn't perfect, but when the chips were down, he always came through. I don't think a lot of people knew that about him. But since we started this relationship that was one thing I never really worried about. I knew he'd be there. What he did though, or how he reacted, that was usually unexpected for me. I knew he'd hold me. I knew he'd want to know what happened and want to protect me. The level of it though, how he took complete care of me and erased everything he possibly could, that was more than I expected.

The entire landlord shit was one of those things that sort of blindsided me. I hadn't seen him coming, and I think a lot of it was because I lost the edge of everything coming to New York. When I wasn't hooking anymore, my radar didn't have to be as sharp as it had been. I had a steady job, I had steady money; I didn't have to fight tooth and nail for everything I needed. Or at least not as hard as I had to before. And I think it make me sloppy. It wasn't really a bad thing, to be comfortable, but it did make me less aware. Coming to Tyler the way I did, spilling my guts about what happened _and _then laying it on him that I'd been a hooker—I'm sure that was the blindside of all time.

Except, it hadn't been. The landlord thing threw him; I knew it did. He was keeping himself under control for me, because I needed him, but I knew he was angry about it. I knew he felt like he hadn't protected me, even if that was the dumbest fucking thing I heard—there was no way he could protect me all the time, and I didn't need him to. But my admitting that I'd been a hooker hadn't surprised him at all. I wasn't sure how I felt about that at first. I thought he just wasn't getting it, or in denial or something, but he really wasn't shocked, or pissed, or anything. He didn't dump me, or throw me out, or yell and call me every name he could think of for a whore. Instead, he told me that it didn't change anything between us, and it was part of my past.

I must not have hid it as well as I thought I did. Or maybe it was really obvious, and I just didn't know. I suppose it was sort of easy to figure out if you actually got to know me at all. The topics I avoided, the bits and pieces of my past that I shared with him, the off-limits and turtle-pace of our sex life…probably was pretty easy to put together. I still don't know why I told him then. If he would have been a different guy that would have been the end—maybe I just wanted it all over at once if it was going to go that way; rip the Band-Aid off and just crumble so I only had to pull myself together again once.

The truth still was that I'd never be a normal girl; I was just lucky that Tyler didn't seem to find that a problem.

I'm not sure exactly when I decided sex was a good idea right then. I mean, of course I'd been thinking about it forever, and if it was the right time, when the right time was; all that shit. I couldn't explain what made me say it then, when he was going off to get me something else to wear; I just knew it was right. I wasn't afraid anymore. And I think it was because I knew everything was out in the open and he still accepted me anyway. There wasn't anything else huge for me to tell him—the hooker thing was always what I figured the deal-breaker was. So there was nothing else to hide. And nothing stopping me.

His concern over my decision sealed the deal if there was anything lingering. Because most guys would have just jumped at the chance to get laid, but he still asked me if I was making this choice for the right reasons, and if I was going to have regrets. Like I could ever regret anything with him.

And for the first time, I really wanted to have sex for me. Not because someone else wanted to get off, or wanted to pay me, or wanted to use me. I wanted to have sex with Tyler simply because I could. What a small and huge revelation.

Right then, I hadn't really had time to think about it much—mostly because of the wave of panic that tore through me after I thought we were go for sex, and then he said he wouldn't fuck me—but Tyler had separated fucking from what he wanted to do. I always thought _making love_ was a really stupid fucking term. What the fuck did that even mean? _Making love_. It sounded so fucking lame, and boring. It sounded like a fucking romantic comedy or something. I didn't really think I wanted that. I wanted to feel Tyler. I wanted him to fuck me. I didn't want some slow and steady, unexciting routine sex. Of course, I would have agreed to just about anything at that point, just out of the need to have him at all when I made this decision.

What did that mean if we were making love? What did it mean that he wanted to with me? That he didn't just want to fuck me. I mean, I got that we had more than just fucking required. We had a relationship and emotions and intimacy. But…did making love mean that he was saying something else? Were you _in_ love to _make_ love? Ugh. The term still just made me twitch. It was just not something I was used to, or comfortable with. It sort of made me uneasy. Which was stupid, because we were fucking regardless of what you called it. I didn't know what being in love felt like. I didn't know what you were supposed to feel when you were in love. And how the fuck did I find that out? If you never experienced something before, how do you know you have it?

Really, out of all the sex shit we tried already, the part that we hadn't wasn't really all that huge. I mean, it _was_. It was completely different, but I wasn't sure why I had such a hang up about this one part that we hadn't.

He was always really fucking attentive. Always. This was like attentive times fifty. I don't think he left anything untouched or un-kissed. I came three fucking times before we even really had sex. I was so wet by that third time, and I don't think I ever wanted him that badly before. And he still asked me one last time if I was sure. And if I backed out then, and changed my mind, I knew he would have stopped and told me it was fine, and we would have just gone back to whatever was before this. But I wasn't freaking out, and I knew this was what I wanted.

I figured out the answer to why I had the hang up, why this small part was so different the minute he started pushing inside me. He was looking at me. He was watching me. _He was seeing me._ His eyes never left mine, and the way he was looking at me, so careful about everything, and concerned, and everything pouring out of his eyes into mine. Jesus Fucking Christ. It made me feel so many things. The sheer power of the emotions themselves were sort of overwhelming. Just _feeling_ that much, period, was overwhelming. On top of that, what he made me feel was so...real, and good. It was beyond anything I ever imagined it to be. And that was just the first push. I'd forgotten what it felt like, the feeling of the head of a cock pushing in, the extra push as the ridge pushed past, the fullness. The difference was that he cared about me, that this wasn't just for him, and I got the impression that it was more for me right now.

He was so fucking gentle to start. Like I'd break if he went too fast or too hard. Like I hadn't taken that before. But again, he didn't want to force me to take anything. It was more like accepting him, which was just odd for me to even think about. I felt…possessed, but not in the way that I had as a hooker; it was completely different because I felt like I was his, but he was mine, too. And it was really fucking weird to realize that on the physical level, but on some emotional one, too. All I could feel was warmth. And him. Like it was the same thing. It felt like my pussy was on fire and it was spreading out slowly from there all over my body, tingles all over.

It was almost like a wave of panic when he started to back up. I knew he was only doing it to move back again, but he'd only just pushed in and I already never wanted him to leave. What was amazing was that watching him, I think he felt the same way, so he was pushing back again just as quickly, and just as deeply. I wanted him as far inside me as he could go, and I hoped that the way I basically clung to him wasn't completely overbearing and desperate. He didn't seem to mind; and in fact, he never really moved away again. And I loved that this closeness that we had didn't mean he was going slow, or gentle. After the initial push; no, we weren't fucking, but this definitely wasn't lame or boring, so if lovemaking was this, then this was fucking awesome.

He didn't say anything. Not the whole time, and I wouldn't have been able to say anything back anyway, so I was glad that he didn't. I could feel what he would have said in the way he was thrusting anyway. And I hoped that he could feel it back. I think he could.

I wasn't exactly sure what to expect with coming. I never came during sex at all, ever. And I didn't know if coming with him would feel the same way it did when I got off myself. I knew how I liked it; I knew what would get me off. This was different. It felt different. It felt better because it was with him, but I didn't really know if I should get myself off with him, too, or if he did that part. I didn't really want to move to do it myself. I kind of wanted him to do it. Then he shifted, pushing more weight on me, and it was like he was a fucking mind reader, because I could basically rub my clit up into him then and sparks of pleasure just exploded every time I did. It sort of shocked me when the orgasm actually hit. It felt the same, but still completely different. And the build had been so gradual, that it felt so much more… Just more. Everywhere. I closed my eyes for a second; the only time during the entire thing I did, and forced them open again because I felt like I might miss something else, and that wasn't happening anymore. I knew he was coming, too, and it sort of annoyed me that I felt so much because watching his was almost as good as my own, but I sort of couldn't make the feeling stop. It was just coursing through me.

And then it sort of hit me. All that time. I felt cheated. That it'd taken this long for someone to make me feel this way. That I'd been robbed of it for so long before. But mostly I just felt grateful. That someone had given enough of a shit to want to give it to me. That he cared at all. That he made me feel cared for.

He didn't say it. He didn't mention love. And I was actually really glad he didn't. Because I was already dealing with too many emotions, and him admitting that, too… I didn't know what to say back. I mean, if this feeling was love, then, yes. But I didn't know what to call this. And I didn't want to ask him now either. Because somehow I also turned into this weepy, clingy, needy…ugh, _thing_. I didn't even know what to call it, but it was so not normal. I felt…weak. And I think I started apologizing at one point, somewhere around where he pulled out gently and rolled us over.

He just kept whispering to me, his mouth right by my ear, his arms not even allowing me to move away if I would have wanted to. "You don't have anything to apologize for. This is a lot. This is a lot even if you've had it with other people before. You're not weak. You're just finding out what you were missing. And it's ok to feel however you want about that. You can be pissed; you should be pissed. It fucking sucks that it's been this long and you've never had this. And I'm so happy that you let me be the one to have it with you. You don't have to be strong all the time. That's what I'm here for. I've got you."

I have no idea how long he spent just whispering like that, but it felt like a long time. When I finally looked up at him again, he still asked if I was ok first. I don't know if it was a lifetime of shit that brought him into my life, or maybe he was just extremely unlucky, but now that I had him, I wasn't letting him go.

And I wanted him all over again. I wanted to feel it all again. I wanted to feel everything again. And I wanted to be the one to make him feel it.

"Can we do it again?"

I think he was surprised that was my first comment. But after he told me to stay on top, my next one made him smile even more. "That was the most amazing fucking thing ever."

"Nice choice of words."

"No, really," I insisted.

He nodded quickly. "No, I know. It was. Completely. Amazing."

"The most fucking amazing. Ever." I clarified.

"Yes," he agreed. "The most fucking amazing. Ever."

I leaned down to kiss him, and he was going to sit up with me, but I pushed my hand against his chest, shaking my head. "No, you stay there."

He relaxed back again, and I kissed him a second time, slowly, letting it draw out until both of us had our eyes closed, and then we were basically fucking with our mouths. I don't think our self-control was going to last as long with this one.

I rested my forehead against his when we stopped, savoring the feeling of closeness that washed over me. I got that feeling a lot with him, and I wondered if I'd feel it even more now. I backed up, hands on his chest and honestly, sort of just grinned down at him, lost in the moment. It wasn't like he wasn't grinning right back me, the smug motherfucker.

I'm sure we looked like complete grinning idiots. I shook out of it, getting back to business. "We need a new condom. Where are they?"

He nodded to the nightstand. "Drawer."

"How many you got in there?" I asked, smirking.

He smirked back, his hands just above my hips, thumbs rubbing back and forth. "I think there's plenty in there."

"You sure about that?" I asked, leaning over to open the drawer, his hands shifting to steady me.

"If you wanna be that insatiable, we can just get more. I think what's in there will last two, three days the way we're going."

I giggled as I took another one out; popping the wrapper in my mouth for a second while I leaned back on his legs to change the condom. When I looked up at his face, he had this lazy smirk on his face, his hands folded under his head.

"What?"

He shook his head slowly. "Nothing. I'm just really enjoying watching you do that."

I snorted at him, tying off the old one and dropping it in the trashcan next to the nightstand.

I sat back on his legs, amused that he was already half-hard, and I only had to stroke him a few times to get him completely hard to roll the new condom on. I moved up his body then so I was sitting on his hips, but didn't put him back inside yet. I wasn't teasing exactly. I'd call it appreciating. Appreciating back. I liked watching his reactions from this angle. I leaned over him, my palms pressing into his collarbones, hands curling around his shoulders and really enjoyed the feeling of him under my fingers. I traced the length of his collarbones with my thumbs before running my fingers down his chest lightly. I skimmed back up and then raked my nails down the same path, smiling at the way goosebumps broke out all over his chest. And I think he was kinda ticklish. At least to the raking. So I did it again. And then one more time until I chuckled at him and he was half-smiling/half-squirming away from me.

It got no better when I dropped down then and sucked on his nipple, raking my nails down his sides. He legit stopped me after that, but I kinda couldn't seem to stop. I was already too hooked on what I could make him feel. It wasn't a power thing. It was just that he was so…real. His reactions were real. That's what I loved about it. So I basically turned him into a twitchy mess while making a nonstop loop of flicking, licking and sucking on his nipples with different ways of raking my nails or feathering my fingertips over his chest. I might have started trailing the sucking and nipping up to his neck and jaw, licking over the rough stubble he was sporting, too.

I gave in when he was all breathless and "JesusFuckAllisonPlease." Twice.

I think I had about the hugest shit-eating grin on my face, and it wasn't like he was upset; he just wanted me to get the fuck on with it. And at that point, I really couldn't argue with that.

I reached back and held onto his cock while I started to lower myself. I had to fight with myself not to just drop on him, but I kinda wanted this to be as slow as the first had been. The stretching feeling was no different when he entered this time. I couldn't decide on a word for the feeling. Just the feeling of the head of his cock alone—I felt so sensitive. Raw, but in the best way.

Once he was inside all the way, the fullness was almost like a punch to the gut. It felt total.

I rode him slowly, hands spread over his chest, no more teasing, just moving on him, experimenting with the directions, how he felt inside me when I moved back and forth, or bent over him more, how he shifted and hit different spots when I changed to circle my hips.

I started pulling my knees in when I pulled off of him, relaxing them completely so he pushed back in faster and harder. The sounds he made were amazing. Grunting and panting and moans—his hands would stay at my hips and knead and then be on my tits the next second, and he always meet my eyes when he did it like he was asking permission or checking if it was ok. I didn't want that anymore—I hoped that he would lose that—I wanted him to know that whatever he did was ok, and that he didn't need to ask if it was ok, silently or otherwise. I became fascinated with where his hands would be depending on what I was doing. How they'd change their grip, how he'd flex his fingers, how he'd pull me into him and caress over my skin.

He shifted his legs out when I started moving faster, his knees pulling up to support me, his hands roaming up my back, and when he started to thrust up, I let go of his chest, trailing my hands up to my hair, and basically, I totally started bouncing on his cock. From the sounds he was making, he liked it a whole fucking lot, and if he hadn't figured it out by then, he definitely got the idea that this one was for him. His eyebrows would pull down in the most adorable way when something felt really good, a moan tumbling out never far behind.

I wanted to be closer again. I rolled forward, leaning until I was pressed against him, arms framing his head, hands fisting in the sheets. Everything sounded louder; the wet sounds of the thrusting, his moans mixing with mine, heavy breathing. This position was so fucking awesome. The way I could control how far he went, the direction, the way I could grind down onto his cock. His knees kept pressing up into me to keep me bouncing on him, his body getting tense, me shifted so high on him that I was riding my clit into him. And while everything was loud and amazing and tense, the feeling of his hand on the small of my back was almost the most noticeable thing for me. It was solid; so solidly him.

The closer we got, the more I wanted to press into him. I kept squeezing his cock, tilting my hips so that both of our thrusts were small, and tight, his really inconsistent before he came, just letting me finish it. I felt him come so much more than I had the first time, maybe because I was able to be more focused on him from the start. The connection even after we slowed again was—it wasn't completeness or shit like that. I mean, yes, there was a feeling of just, sort of, the end, but that wasn't what I meant really either. That sounded final, and that wasn't what it felt like. It was just the thing that I'd wanted most with someone, with him; and now I had it. Belonged. I felt like I belonged here. I felt like I belonged with him.

I was leaning over him, watching, and his hands came up to my face, his touch gentle, guiding me down to his mouth. I loved two things about this: the kiss was sloppy, and shaky, and he looked like how I always felt with him, and his hips kept pushing up into me like he still wanted more. It was amazing to feel that wanted.

I rested my forehead against his as we caught our breath. I couldn't place the look in his eyes, but I didn't ask him about it. He moved his hand to my hair, combing it back. "Did you come?"

I shook my head against his a few times, our foreheads still pressed together. "I don't think so."

He smiled. "You don't think so?"

"No." I shook my head again, kissing him quickly. "I think… I dunno what happened really."

"Did we stop too soon?"

"No." More head-shaking. "I mean, I think whatever was gonna happen…did."

He blinked at me a few times. "Ok… So is that good or bad?"

I chuckled, backing up and kissing the end of his nose. "It was good."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"I don't like good."

"But you just asked me if it was good or bad. It wasn't bad. At all."

"But 'good' is not 'the most fucking amazing, ever.'"

I smiled, touching his cheek. "I don't think it's always supposed to be the most fucking amazing, ever."

"But I want it to be."

I can't even… I was in a parallel universe. I mean, he was being sweet, and unrealistic, and a dork, but he was also totally serious. I had to clear my throat and just wait a minute because I was all fucking emotional in the two seconds it'd taken him to say that to me. And I tried to explain better after pulling myself back together. "It's not… It felt great. It's just different. I don't think it was the same kind that I'm used to. Just not as direct or something. And I really didn't care. At all. I wanted to watch you. I wanted to see you come. It was really warm, and just not as powerful, I don't think. But it was still really fucking great. Ok?"

He nodded slowly. "Ok."

I nodded once back. "Ok."

He started sitting up, shifting me off of him, but still holding onto me. I chuckled while I followed with him, hooking my arm around his neck for balance. He hadn't even fully sat up all the way and he was flailing for the nightstand drawer. I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. "Again?"

"Yeah, again. This'll be better for you. I can make it better."

I touched his cheek, making him look at me. "Tyler, it doesn't need to get better. It was amazing. And I don't need to come every time. I wanted that for you."

He nodded; I don't think he really even listened. "Right. Good. And this'll be better."

I snorted, running my fingers down his face. "Did you hear me at all?"

"Yeah, I did. Don't need to come every time. Wanted me to. Now it's my turn. For you."

"Is this a contest I don't know about?"

"Nope. 'Cause I'm not gonna lose again."

I giggled at him. He was smirking though, so I think he was only half serious. He handed me the new condom, removing the other one himself and tossing it in the trash.

"Is this my job now?" I asked, smirking.

He shrugged. "Feels better when you do it. If you want the job, it's yours."

"Not that I'm complaining," I started, rolling the new one on, "but if you wanna take a break, I think that's legal."

He scoffed. "Did you just insult my masculinity while putting a condom on me?"

I laughed. "No. I just mean, we can… We don't have to just keep… We can stop fucking for a while."

He met my eyes. "Allison, we haven't started fucking."

"Oh."

He smirked. "I'll pass out later. You wanna go again?"

I nodded, shifting to take him in again, letting him guide me down.

I already decided, I didn't think I'd ever get tired of the feeling of him pushing inside me now. And the way he pulled me closer the second he was inside, it made it seem almost closer than we had been the first time.

Being that close kinda scared me a little bit. Because there was nothing left to hide. And there was nowhere left for me to hide really even if I wanted to. I mean, I didn't, but knowing that the place to hide was gone was sort of scary. He knew enough to be dangerous before; now he could be a fucking wrecking ball.

I wasn't sure why I was even scared—he lost whatever he had to hide with, too—so we were in the same boat, and he didn't seem to be scared of any of it. It _was _freeing in a way, too. Just to know that someone else was there even with knowing everything.

I think he picked up on my moment of whatever _it_ was, because his hands had moved from my sides up around my back, pulling me even fucking closer like there was anywhere left for me to go. "You ok?"

So fucking perceptive. That was the annoying side of not being able to hide. Fucker seemed to know everything. He ducked his head a bit, but he was still catching my eye line.

Yeah, it was the eyes that did it. All the time. Because he never hid anything with them to start with. They were always open, and readable, and talking whether he opened his mouth or not. I should like this. I should like whatever that was in his eyes. I did like it. It was just… I nodded, managing a, "Yeah," with the nod. He didn't let me duck away, and after a few more seconds, I really didn't care anymore. I just let myself get lost there.

He was right; this position was like constant clit action. And pretty much all we were doing so far was rocking back and forth. I started out sort of kneeling and straddling, but I stopped him for a second to curl my legs around him instead. He smiled this incredibly adorable smile when I came back down on him, and I mean, how could I not want to be close to him?

It was sort of an awkward motion; and definitely something I had not done before, and I was pretty sure he was doing more of the work than I was, but we worked out this kind of thrusting thing, where he lifted my hips and pulled me towards him and I could push against him. At the end of each one, he'd stop for a minute so I could grind against him before pulling back again. The feeling of grinding on him with him so far inside me like that was fuck-awesome.

He felt incredibly deep the entire fucking time. Even with the grinding and the thrusting; it was still more like rocking than fucking. And it felt like I could feel everything—I don't even know what the fuck that meant—but it was just the only thing that kept playing in my head. We were completely wrapped in each other. His arms around me, his fingers running up my back until they got lost in my hair, still pulling me closer. Always closer.

His breath was hot and it felt like it spread all over us. His mouth was right next to mine, but it was like we couldn't even be torn away from watching each other long enough to kiss at the moment, and I realized the heat was less him, and more the mixing of our breathing. It felt like we were standing in the steam from a shower, fogging up the bathroom mirror.

I couldn't keep my hands from griping at him, like it was some automatic reaction to him always pulling me closer; I couldn't stop urging him to fucking do it. I kept combing through his hair and tugging on the ends—it was like all I could feel were fingers; his moving, griping, holding; my fingertips sliding against his skin, and the fullness of him inside me.

The heat kind of reminded me of a strobe light, just waves of intensity, flashes, and I came grinding my clit into him, my hands gripping his neck and shoulders, feeling his cock throbbing in me. The last thing I noticed before I came was that the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck were damp. And I felt completely safe.

I kinda liked finishing first. And he really liked me all clinging and hands-y. I could tell he was close, but it took him a few minutes to get there, and we basically got to switch roles, and all I wanted to do was pull him closer. Maybe I got it then, whatever _it_ was. The need, the intimacy of it. I kissed him when I knew he was just on the edge, shoving my tongue in his mouth, and his hands dropped to my ass, grabbing me and pulling me into him while shoving his hips up at the same time. This throbbing was at a completely different level than before; pulsing while he held me to him and finished. It was the first time I thought about sex without a condom, and realized I wanted that feeling with him, too.

We sat just connected there, kissing, and wrapped up in each other for a long time. It was gentle, and sweet, and I was surprised by how soothing it felt. I could have fallen asleep there; just dropped my head to his shoulder and drifted off.

"You can sleep here."

Shit. I said that out loud. "Mmm."

He let out this really soft noise that sounded a little like a laugh, but I think he was trying to be quiet if I really wanted to sleep. And somehow I wound up with my head on his shoulder with no memory of how I'd gotten there. Maybe I had fallen asleep for a while without realizing.

He was still holding me; I was all tucked into him, and it felt like more than just his arms were wrapped around me; like the best fucking blanket. His breathing was even and slow, and I could feel the heat from his breath against my neck and upper back. I nuzzled into his shoulder, pressing a kiss into his skin. Goosebumps broke out all over my body as his fingers fanned out on my back.

He shifted, and one hand pressed into my lower back, and then he was moving us, and even with me hooking my legs around him, I expected a much faster and rougher drop to the bed, but he managed to make the transition really fucking smoothly, and gently, never moving from inside me. And I think I was quite possibly even clingier than any of the other times, because it was just something I never expected to have. I wasn't used to gentle, period, and position changes weren't ever that…natural. I liked the feeling of him inside me during the switch, and the way the fullness just expanded when he pressed me into the bed, his mouth attached to mine before my head ever hit the pillow.

It was sort of mind-blowing to me to have sex at all that didn't immediately require movement, too. He was happy to just hold me for however long I dozed on him, and now, again, to just stay inside me while we basically made out like teenagers, and I really fucked up his hair beyond any resemblance of order, ever. I didn't know if any of his hair would ever lay flat again. It was so obviously more than just sex to him, and I had to be careful not to think about that too much right now, because I think I'd been emotional enough for one night with him.

I sighed in what was probably the most content way I ever felt when he broke the kissing for a minute, smiling this lazy and soft, happy kind of smile at me. "One second," he said against my lips, kissing me once more before backing up.

And I kind of… I didn't freak out exactly, I just didn't want him to move, I didn't want him out of me, and I sort of made that well known with the noise I made—the one that sounded much less pathetic in my head. The added grabby hands might have been pushing it, too.

He didn't stop, easing out of me gently, but he bent back over me and kissed me again. "I know, baby, it'll only take a second."

I let out a much more frustrated noise.

He chuckled. "It fucking sucks being the responsible one, believe me. I'd rather just keep going, too."

I mean, I really had no complaints; he changed the condom lightning-fast, but it was just the idea that he had to go anywhere at all, and what a fucking switch, that I was not the responsible one. I wondered if that should have bothered me—if the thought that I would have let him just keep going was a good thing or not. But then he was back between my legs, and pushing inside again, and I really didn't give a shit.

He started gentle, and slow, like the first time had been, and then somewhere in the middle of it, it just got less serious. It wasn't like we weren't serious; it just wasn't about the same emotions of the first one, I don't think. And it sort of turned into this rolling, position-switch-it-up, and we kept giggling while we fought for power neither of us gave a damn about. And it was fun. Another first that I never thought possible really—that sex could be just…fun.

I don't think I ever came and laughed right after before; Tyler chuckling himself while half-collapsed on top of me. And the weird part was that after, even though it was lighter and not as emotionally deep as any of the other times, I felt more for him then. I couldn't describe the feeling really, just that it was something that I knew and trusted in my gut, that it meant something, and was probably the most intensely I ever felt about anything.

It felt good. Sex felt good. Everything felt good. With him.

And I couldn't stop smiling.

He fully collapsed against me, his head on my chest, and I was combing my fingers through his hair when he snickered and made the goosebumps break out again as the little puff of air tickled my skin. "What?"

"It's kind of funny."

"What is?"

"Well, just that it took us three times to get it right."

"What do you mean?"

He angled his head up to look at me. "I mean, like, the alley, and the time we almost had sex."

I burst out laughing. "Oh my God, that's right. I mean, I remember the last time more than the first, but that almost seems like it wasn't us. It seems like a really long time ago."

"Yeah, it does."

"God, you were so fucking arrogant. And impulsive."

He was grinning up at me; he knew I wasn't being mean. "Well…"

I shook my head. "I really thought you were just like the rest of them."

He shook his head slightly, brows pulling down. It was incredibly cute when he did that, from this angle anyway. "Well, that's not entirely fair. You did sort of dump that on me and then run out."

I was basically ignoring his side of the argument. "I was so fucking pissed at you."

"I know." He sighed. "I thought I totally blew it that night."

I scoffed. "You did, dumbass. But then you stalked me and apologized, and I kind of had to give you another chance."

"I'm glad you did. Really glad."

"Me, too."

"Third time's the charm apparently."

I nodded. "And fourth."

"And fifth."

"And sixth."

"Did we make it to seventh?"

"Yes," I nodded. "Probably eighth, too."

His smile was so huge. "You gonna let me rest at all today?"

I squinted, pretending to think it over. "You can rest while I pee right now."

"Pfft, you're testing my stamina, I think." He rolled off of me.

I shrugged. "Guess you'll just have to wait and see. It's a good thing you're young."

I could hear him laughing as I walked to the bathroom.

When I came back, he was just about spread-eagle across the bed, his head turned in my direction, eyes closed. I got back on the bed gently, lying on my side and propping my head on my elbow, not wanting to wake him if he'd fallen asleep that quickly, but his eyes opened and he smiled lightly at me. "Is it weird that I like it's only been me?" he asked.

I didn't need him to explain what he meant. And I realized two things at once: one, I'd totally just gotten up and walked to the bathroom completely naked, and never thought about it at all—which wasn't odd because I was used to being in various kinds of nakedness with the stripping, but I'd never been that comfortable just being…me before. And two: "No, it's not weird. I like it, too."

"Yeah? It's not an ego thing. That I think no one else could get you off or anything. I just like that no one else got there first this way."

"I didn't think it was an ego thing. And yeah, I get it. I like it, too."

"I'm still sorry, though."

"For what?"

"That you had to wait for me to get it."

I shook my head, sighing. "I'm ok with it this way. Now, anyway. Maybe not before I met you. But now."

He nodded slowly, yawning.

"You wanna nap?"

His eyes fluttered closed in answer. "You wore me out," he mumbled.

I moved over to him, pressing a kiss into his temple. "I think you earned a nap. Rest up. We have a lot of missed time to make up for."

"'K."

I smiled at his answer; like it was just a given.

I tried lying down and napping, too, but I was too fucking wired, and I felt completely restless. I gave up eventually, moving to sit with my back against the wall, trying to think of something I could do while he was sleeping. Nothing seemed appealing, or it would have meant I would have had to leave the bed, and I liked just being close to him. I wound up thinking a lot and memorizing just about every inch of his body that I could see. Of course that just made me ridiculously horny, which was _such_ an odd experience to actually want someone, and let's just say that his nap was cut just a little bit short.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	32. Chapter 32

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There has also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two  
**

* * *

**APOV**

I think I sort of became obsessed with the different ways Tyler could get me off. Not that he hadn't in the past; maybe just the combination of things, the feeling of him in me—that was addictive. Fingers, mouth, cock, whatever combination of them—I think it was because it was so new to me. I got off myself; I had orgasms myself. I had orgasms with him. But I never shared it like this before—that was the addictive part. I already knew I could get myself off, and I knew he could, too, but it was almost like a challenge for or with myself to see if I could get off _this_ way, or with _this_ touch, or _this_ position.

And what the most different part was? Tyler was just as happy to get me off as I was to have him do it.

It was something like 36 hours since everything had started; the last 24 of which had been spent completely in Tyler's bed or shower. I lost count now of how many times we had sex; the only times we stopped were for food, a useless shower that just turned into more sex, and a few short naps.

I actually kind of felt bad. I really didn't let him rest much at all. And he hadn't really slept the entire night after I showed up here. He also wasn't complaining.

After our last nap, where he passed out cold on his stomach again, I draped myself over him, my tits pressing into his back and woken him up by blowing in his ear. It took a lot longer than I thought it would for him to wake, and I wasn't sure if that was because of the lack of sleep, or that he just became accustomed to me being there. It really hadn't mattered after; the full-on nakedness had been very effective for waking him completely. The fact that I sort of licked all over him probably had helped, too. I couldn't really help myself. His back was ridiculously sexy, especially when he was all sprawled with his arms up and… Yeah.

I honestly think his body woke up first; I think his brain kicked in for that part before he actually was awake mentally. He rolled his hips into the bed, and he shifted some, but his eyes were still closed. I just kept blowing into his ear, smiling at the way his face would scrunch more the longer I did it, and really fucking amused that he wasn't trying to swat me away or anything.

I rolled off of him to my side when he started to wake fully, stretching his arms and turning his head into the pillow like a kid. How did he manage to make that both adorable and really fucking sexy at the same time?

He was smirking when he turned back in my direction, his voice still full of sleep and deeper than normal. Fucking hell. "How long did you let me sleep this time?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "Dunno. I get bored. Just waiting."

He laughed into the pillow. "Well I'm sorry I can't be awake all the time to keep you entertained."

I shoved at him to roll over, and he went easily, yawning and stretching some more when he got on his back. And I don't know if it was the noises he was making when he did the full body stretch—you know the ones; those, like, releasing groans—or that he was already hard and waiting for me, and the stretching just made his cock sort of bounce there for me, but if he wasn't awake before that, when I pounced and started swallowing his cock, he was then.

His hands landed on me; one kneading into my back and the other resting on my head, and he was swearing his way through an orgasm a few minutes later.

He totally deserved that blowjob. And many more when he flipped us over and screwed me through the mattress. I didn't ask, but I think that might have been the official start of fucking.

~ooOoo~

"Fuck."

"That good, huh?" I teased.

"Well, yeah. But no—we have an emergency."

"We do?"

"Yes."

"And what is it?"

"We're out of condoms."

I melted into the sheets in a fit of giggles. "Seriously?"

He grinned, nodding. "Yeah."

"Wow."

"You should be proud."

"I kinda am." I nodded.

His smile softened, and his face changed to something more serious. And it sort of scared me for a second. "We'll have to go out to get more," he started.

"Yeah…"

"I was thinking maybe you'd want to swing by your place and get some clothes."

"Oh." I hadn't really thought about that at all. Or going back to the apartment. Ever. Little exaggeration there, but, I'd just been happy with him, I really hadn't thought about life shit getting in our way at all.

He back-peddled, worried now. "We don't have to. I just thought maybe… We can skip your apartment," he said quickly, "I just thought you'd be staying here for a while, and… I mean, you can wear anything of mine you want, but…some clothes you might… Never mind. Forget I said anything. Completely. Go back to thinking about condoms."

I smiled softly. "It's ok. I mean, I'll have to go back eventually. I just wasn't thinking about that now."

"Don't then. Don't think about it. I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You're right. I'll need shit eventually. I just hadn't thought about it."

"Or him." He sighed, angry with himself now. I didn't answer, which I think made him angrier. He sat back on the bed heavily. "Fuck. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You've been great."

"Yeah, before I reminded you of one of the worst moments of your life."

I scrunched up my face, mad that he was feeling this way now. "Just stop. It's fine. And it's probably better if I go back sooner than later. I can't hide in your apartment forever. So we can run to the store and stop by the apartment. It'll be good."

He was looking at me cautiously, like he was trying to figure out if I was lying about it or not.

"I'm not afraid of him, Tyler. I just wasn't thinking about it. I'm not afraid to go back there."

"I'll be there."

"I know."

"He won't hurt you again."

"I know." I nodded.

He sighed. "Maybe you should press charges."

I groaned. "No. That's not happening."

"Why not? He totally deserves it."

"Because it's my word against his. And I'm a stripper and a former prostitute. It wouldn't stick anyway. He wouldn't be charged or it would somehow turn into my fault—like I asked for it."

"That's bullshit."

I shook my head. "That's reality."

He didn't like that answer at all. And I could see him thinking. And I knew exactly what was going to fly out of his mouth next. "I could have my father—"

"No," I said quickly.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to say some shit about your father's lawyer. And no. I don't want to take it any further. And I doubt that's how you'd like me to be introduced to your father. _Hey, dad—this is my girlfriend, Allison. Remember her? She's the one that used your lawyer for that assault charge. Same one that he bailed out when I got arrested earlier this year._"

His eyebrows were pulled way down; I think he was getting frustrated, too. "So you're just gonna live there like it never happened?"

I shrugged. "It's not like I have a choice."

"You could move," he said, the look on his face annoyed and all huffy.

"Where would I move to? I can't bail on my half of the rent. And it's a great apartment for what we pay in rent. It's close to work."

"Yeah, it just has a rapist in the building. No big deal." He shrugged.

I sighed. "What do you want me to do, Tyler? It's where I live."

"You could live here."

I touched his cheek, because I didn't want him to take this the wrong way. "Thank you for offering. I mean it. And I would love to, but I don't think I'm ready for that yet. And I can't just leave Jordan with the whole apartment."

"She could find a different roommate," he said quietly.

He wasn't looking at me; he was picking at the sheets. And I think even though I hadn't wanted to, I might have hurt his feelings. I sighed. "Tyler." He was still looking down and I grabbed his chin. "Hey." I leaned over to kiss him. And I didn't really know what else to say but what I already had. "I'm not ready for that yet."

"I know," he said just as quietly. God, I felt so bad now. The way he was all let down and sad. And I mean, it wasn't like this was news to him. It couldn't have been. I think maybe he just wanted more all the time.

"We just started something new, ya know? I can't just barrel into shit, you know that."

"Yeah, I know." He sighed.

"Then what's the problem?"

He shrugged, sighing heavily again. "I dunno."

"I'm not going anywhere," I assured him. "If that's what you're thinking. That's not why."

"I know."

"Then what?"

"Just ignore me. I know we're not at that stage yet. Just… Yeah, ignore me."

"Are you mad because I turned you down?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't want you to just say yes anyway."

I chuckled at him. He still looked so disappointed. "If I give you another blowjob, will you stop moping?"

"I'm not moping," he said in a completely childish, pouting way. "And I don't need another blowjob."

"Well I can't fuck you; we're out of condoms. So until we get some more, I can blow you if that'll make you feel better."

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "I guess; if you want to."

I grinned and shoved him backwards on the bed. "I guess," I said back.

~ooOoo~

I thought we were in a pretty good place when we left his apartment. We stopped at the store first and stocked up on condoms, and we kept kissing, just, right out there in public, and I was the happiest I could remember being. He lost the depressed moping before we left, and I was glad that he seemed as happy as I was. He'd been so angry when I told him about what had happened, and he managed to keep himself under control because I needed him, but I knew that it obviously affected him as well. Whether it was all the sex or just the new turn in our relationship, I was glad that it was making him as happy as it was. He seemed lighter, less weighted down by everything now.

But somewhere between the front door and the stairs of my apartment building, that flipped again, and Tyler went completely apeshit crazy. One minute he was right next to me and we were really fucking happy. I felt high and that was something that I never even felt when actually high. It was a completely different kind of high—a high _because_ of Tyler; like time with him was the drug, the way he made me feel; like I was normal and ordinary and worth the effort for him to try with me. That knowledge was just as addicting as sex with him was.

It was sort of one of those slow motion minutes where we were happy and he was nuzzling my neck as we just started on the stairs. He'd just made some comment about grabbing my ass and we were laughing, and then I turned, and he was gone. I went back down the few stairs and looked down the hallway to see his fist dropping to wail on the fucking asshole landlord.

I ran over, screaming his name and telling him to stop, but he didn't hear any of it. It scared me when he got like this; when he just lost total control. It wasn't like I'd never done that in my life but I tried to put that behind me. Days of poor control or just being fucking stupid had cost me things I'd never get back. And it was a dangerous line to ride. The other problem was that I had already underestimated this asshole, too, and I had no idea what else he was capable of and Tyler getting hurt because of it couldn't happen.

The landlord must not have seen Tyler coming; or if he had, he had no idea Tyler was going to do this. He was mostly protecting himself, but his feet were kicking and for the moment, Tyler clearly had the upper hand, but there was no guarantee that would last. For a skinny, gross, little man, he had some shit going on under the hood. That's why he was so much scarier, and he'd already gotten the drop on me once, there was no reason to think he couldn't do the same to Tyler.

I sort of didn't know what to do once I got closer to them. Tyler had started on the offensive, and he didn't seem to be stopping, but he was slowing down some, and in true asshole form, the landlord took advantage of that, sucker punched Tyler, and landed a few blows before he could turn it around again. If he was smart, he would have just let Tyler wail until he'd gotten it out of his system, because the few blows only made Tyler angrier again, and his assault sort of just picked up with renewed energy.

Screaming was largely pointless, but it gave me something to do while I decided if I could actually pull Tyler off or not. I waited until he looked tired enough that I could yank the dumbass back, and grabbed him around the chest, burying my head in his back and pulled as hard as I could. Either he expected it, or he knew my touch and wasn't fighting it. We wound up a heap on the ground, me sitting behind him with my arms still locked around his chest.

I figured screaming now was appropriate, because Tyler's body was still all hopped up with adrenaline and he was just waiting for an excuse to start again. "Fucking stop!" I yelled in his ear. "It's not worth it. He's not worth it!"

"You're worth it!" He screamed right back at me.

He was totally out of breath, his chest heaving, and I could see his nose was bleeding and his lip was split. Great, we could match. Fucking hell, we were gonna look like we'd been in a car accident or something.

"He's not!" I yelled back again. I hadn't loosened my grip at all; afraid something else would set him off. So basically, we sat on the floor while we both calmed the fuck down and listened to the asshole landlord groan and attempt to get up enough to crawl back into his hole. The really mean part of me liked watching him slither around with his face all bloody. The realistic part could start to imagine the fallout from this.

Tyler seemed calmer, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Come on," I said, loosening my hold on him a little and starting to get up. "Let's go."

It had started in slow motion and I bet the whole thing was done in two or three minutes. We probably sat on the floor listening to the asshole wheeze longer than it had taken Tyler to make him that way. I thought he was done, but he started pulling away from me and he was gonna fucking kill him if he kept this up.

"Tyler! Jesus Christ! You already fucked him up. Let's just go!"

He didn't listen to me but he wasn't charging at the asshole, either. He didn't need to; landlord curled in on himself and actually fucking whimpered, and I moved closer because homicide was not taking place in my building today. Tyler stood over him while he flinched. At least he didn't beg. That would have been the last shred of dignity this fucker had. He just looked pathetic now; not the angry, horny motherfucker that tried to rape me. Tyler had reduced him to that. That mean part was kind of proud that Tyler was capable of that, that powerful. And that he could obviously fuck someone up, but the rage that sometimes poured out of Tyler was also kind of scary. I was never afraid of him; it wasn't like that. It was just the fact that the rage was there, and boiled over to this point sometimes and that still wasn't good.

I didn't know the word for the look on Tyler's face as he stood over that asshole. I'd seen the look before on people, but not someone like Tyler. Threatening. I wouldn't have fucked with Tyler right now.

His voice was surprisingly calm when he started talking. Or like control was back but it was still skirting that line. "If you ever touch her again, I'll be back, and it'll be worse than your broken face. You don't look at her; you don't talk to her, understand?" He waited for a response and landlord nodded. "You want something or they have a problem and need something fixed, you talk to me. And I better not hear about you fucking with their water or their rent again. Got it?"

More nodding.

Tyler started him down for good measure and then turned and started walking. It took me a second to follow; landlord didn't even glance in my direction.

I caught up to him on the stairs and part of me wanted to just throw down right here; shove him and demand to know what the fuck he was thinking, but just the glare I threw his way before I was about to start, and the look I got back—challenging like he wanted the fight or not that he wanted it; but that he'd barrel headfirst into this one, too—made me stop.

I held my tongue until we got into the apartment. Silent was better with Tyler. If he had time to think first, he usually was more reasonable. "So…" I started, while he trudged over to the couch and sat heavily, blowing out a breath of air and sniffing as he wiped at his nose again. His head went back to rest against the couch. "Are you happy now?"

He snorted. "Yes, I'm satisfied."

I nodded. "Well, I'm really fucking glad, Tyler."

Jordan came strolling out of her bedroom. "Well if it isn't the lovebirds." She smiled. "Water's fixed."

Tyler made some sort of noise I couldn't describe and I just sort of made one of disgust.

"What?" Jordan asked. "That's good news." She paused, looking at me directly. "What the fuck happened to your face?" She turned to look at Tyler as though he could produce an explanation and took in his own split lip, nose all bloody, and his hands, which really looked like shit. The knuckles were all scraped and busted and bloody, and the only thing that was stopping my instinct of fixing him was the fact that I knew most of the blood wasn't his. And the fact that he kind of royally pissed me off.

Jordan totally went the wrong direction with it. She stomped over to Tyler on the couch and literally just started throwing punches; smacking anything she came in contact with. "Did you fucking do that to her, you asshole?"

Tyler rolled to protect his head and I kind of forgot how Jordan could really pack a punch until she socked him in the ribs and he let out a shout of pain.

This was a fight I was comfortable getting in the middle of because Jordan I could stop, and she needed to stop beating on my boyfriend, because Tyler wasn't doing anything to defend himself other than the roll and tuck. At least I had confirmation he'd never hit a woman. If anyone was asking for one, Jordan was right now. She would have been on the floor bleeding with some of the other pricks I'd been around.

I stepped between her and Tyler, leaning back and nearly sitting on Tyler to shield him. "Jordan, stop! Tyler didn't do this."

Jordan stepped back. "Then who the fuck did?" she yelled.

"He's bleeding downstairs already," I yelled back. "Jesus! What is with the yelling and the fucking violence today!?" I moved to let Tyler sit back up.

It was sort of amusing in a way when he walked away from his attack on the landlord with only a split lip, bloody nose, a matching set of bloody knuckles, and a few punches to the core he seemed to shake off, but in a manner of seconds, Jordan had split his cheek with the ring she wore on her hand and made him yell from her well-landed punch to the ribs. Poor guy. I almost felt bad.

He scoffed in disgust. "The fuck!? I would never hurt her you fucking freak! And I sure as hell wouldn't come back here then. Christ."

Jordan shifted for a second and then looked at me and my severely disappointed, pursed lips. Did no one have any fucking control? Was _I_ the one with the most control? Because that was a fucking switch and just scary.

Jordan threw her arms up. "Well! I didn't know! You both look like shit! What was I supposed to assume?"

"Your first fucking thought was me?! Thanks a lot! Fuck you, too, Jordan!" Tyler yelled.

"I'm sorry, ok? I just… I don't like seeing her hurt. I just kind of snapped."

"Yeah." I scoffed. "Lots of that going around."

Jordan walked to the kitchen and brought Tyler an ice pack. "Here." She held it out to him. "You should probably clean that." She pointed to his cheek. "But your hand looks kinda fucked."

Tyler didn't say anything and he seemed to suddenly notice that his knuckles were completely covered in blood. He sort of just held the ice pack until he figured out he could wipe his hands off on his shirt.

I threw my hands up again. Violence made everyone stupid. "Jesus fucking Christ, Tyler. Ask for a towel! Or go wash them off!"

He stared at me for a second before asking. "Can I have a towel, please?"

I sighed and walked to the bathroom, shuddering a second when I glanced in the direction of my door. I bypassed going in there at all for the moment, and just focused on getting Tyler a towel. Jordan was in the doorway when I turned around to go out with one.

"What happened?" she asked. Her eyes were concerned, and really, she was an awesome person. Totally just switching to smack-down mode when she thought I was being hurt by Tyler. That kind of loyalty was hard to come by.

I sighed, putting the toilet seat down and sitting for a minute. I didn't want to get into the whole story right now. I settled for the highlights. "Basically, when I got home, that creepy landlord asshole was waiting for me and told me the water was fixed and he wanted to make sure it was working in our apartment. The short version of the story is that he was looking for more than just a water check."

Jordan sighed heavily. "That fucking bastard. I always thought he was gross but I never pegged him for that."

"Yeah, me neither. I was wrong, though. And I wasn't paying attention. Red flags should have been going off all over. I fought him off and went to Tyler's. I've been there since. We came back today because I wanted to get some stuff if I was gonna stay there for a while."

"You gonna move in with him?"

"No." I shook my head. "That's not what we're doing. I just didn't really want to come back here right away and have to see him and I wanted time to just…"

"I got it," Jordan said, not needing me to elaborate.

"I don't even know how Tyler saw him. I hadn't even noticed he was in the hallway. I must be getting soft. I wouldn't have missed that years ago. Or he makes me soft," I said quietly.

"Maybe you just feel safe with him."

I considered that for a second before nodding. "Yeah, I do."

Tyler cleared his throat from the doorway and I jumped. "I'm sorry to interrupt but if you don't want me to use my shirt, then I have to get something else because it's…oozing everywhere."

Oh, Jesus. Tyler just kind of stood in the doorway, turning his hand so the blood kept running the opposite direction. He was really intensely focused on it so it wouldn't drip on the floor or his shirt. I had to smile. The shirt was fucked anyway. I'm not sure why I insisted he not use it to wipe it off. "C'mere," I said, motioning for him to come in. I led him to the sink and turned on the water, washing off the left which seemed to be just scraped with bruises forming; not a ton of blood. The right was much worse. He hissed quietly at the water but didn't pull away and I tried not to touch anything, just letting the water rinse it off. The knuckles on this hand were more than scraped, there were gashes on two of them and it was gonna bruise like a motherfucker, I could tell already. Then there was his last knuckle, which just looked…off.

Jordan poked her head around the other side of Tyler. "Your knuckle's busted," she provided.

Tyler sighed. "Yeah, I kinda figured."

She nodded. "Sucks."

He shook his head. "It was worth it."

"I bet," she agreed.

I scoffed. "Don't encourage him!"

Jordan smirked. "Hey, look what I did to him when I thought he did it. Imagine what he and I could have done together to that skeevy bastard."

Tyler smirked. I did not. I looked between the two of them. "You're both crazy. And stupid."

Tyler shrugged. He craned to look back at Jordan. "Can you pop it back in?"

She reached out and inspected his hand. "I don't really wanna mess with it. I don't think it's dislocated. I think it's broken. I dated a guy that started boxing and did this a couple times." She paused and looked up at him. "One time he needed surgery, so I don't think I should start yanking on it."

I ran a hand over my face. "Oh, that's great, Tyler. Surgery."

He pulled his hand back and poked at the knuckle. It looked…sunken. His face registered the pain but he didn't say anything when he prodded it.

"Stop that! You'll make it worse."

"I don't think it's broken that bad. I know exactly when it happened, too. When the fucker gut punched me. I didn't have my fist closed all the way when I punched him after that."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on. We need to go to the ER."

Jordan stood in my way. "You're going to take him to the ER?"

"Yes," I said. "Obviously. Why?"

She shook her head. "You can't go in there with him like that," she pointed to my face.

"Why not?"

"Because they're going to think the same thing I did."

She had a point. And I really didn't need that.

"I'll take him," she said. And I sort of just stared at her for a minute. Because that was really fucking unexpected.

"You will?"

"Yeah." She nodded.

He scoffed. "Or, I can just go myself like a big boy."

"What if they have to put you under or something?" Jordan asked.

"I don't think that's gonna be necessary," he said.

I sighed, thinking a minute. "I'd rather have someone go with you."

"I'll be fine," he assured me.

"Please?" I asked. "I can wait in the waiting room or in the coffee shop or something. If they give you anything, you might not remember really important shit they tell you. Please?"

He let out a deep breath. "Fine."

I nodded. I knew he wasn't going to say no if I pulled the 'Please' card.

I wasn't really sure how I felt about Jordan being the one to take Tyler to the ER. I mean, logically, I knew it was a bad idea for me to do it because of what they might think, and I knew it was better if there was someone with him. I was glad it was her over other people, but I sort of felt like I was passing off responsibility or something.

I didn't like not being with him when he was hurt. Even if it was his own damn fucking fault he'd gotten that way.

"Where are we taking him?" Jordan asked.

"Roosevelt is probably closer."

"I'll get a cab."

"We can just walk," Tyler said.

I ignored him. "Yeah, get the cab."

"I can walk," he insisted to me.

"It'll take longer to walk, and you're a fucking mess." I gestured to his shirt. "You can't walk down the street like that."

"What and a cab will be better?"

"With where we're going, yeah."

"I can just change—"

"Tyler, just shut the fuck up. We're taking a cab."

Smartly, he didn't argue with me. He didn't say much of anything actually on the ride, and it was thankfully pretty short.

I wound up waiting across the street from the hospital in some hippie coffee place where everything was way more expensive than it should have been, emo-music screamed out of the speakers, and there were way too many people with laptops. The only upside was that no one seemed to notice or care that I had bruises underneath the sunglasses I was wearing, and was basically going to camp there until my boyfriend with matching bruises was done in the hospital.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	33. Chapter 33

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There has also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**RIP James Gandolfini. The acting world has lost another great. **

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

* * *

**Jordan POV**

Never thought I'd be sitting in an ER waiting room today with my best friend's boyfriend because he beat the living shit out of someone that had hurt her, and she couldn't take him because they would have suspected domestic abuse.

Just not how I saw my day going.

Of course, when you lived in New York, and with Allison, weird shit tended to occur on a rather frequent basis.

The cab ride to Roosevelt had been interesting in itself; Allison sandwiched in the back seat between Tyler and I like a parent mediating two kids or something. He was pissed because he didn't want the cab to start with; she was pissed because he fucking went off on the landlord—which couldn't fault him on that one. It may have been the only thing we agreed on, ever. The cabbie either was blissfully unaware of surroundings, or did not find Tyler's bloody attire to be an odd occurrence in his cab. The hospital was only about a mile away, and we got there in decent time; faster than we would have walking.

We dropped a resentful Allison off at the coffee shop across the street and then headed over to the ER.

We were sidelined to the waiting room after checking him in because he was a "non-emergency" Emergency Room case, which seemed kinda fucked up to me—because why else do you go to an Emergency Room but for emergency care—but because his hand wasn't falling off and he wasn't spurting blood from a bloody stump, he was classified as "non-emergency."

By the rather steady stream of people coming in and out of the ER, I was guessing it was a busy emergency day, and we were gonna be here a while.

There were sick people everywhere. Sitting next to Tyler was an old man that was hacking up a lung, and I just hoped he didn't have something contagious, because that was all both of us would need from this little jaunt. The little girl sitting across from us kept waving to me and smiling. Tyler didn't really seem to take much of anything in. He had his head back against the wall, eyes closed, and his arm was tucked into his stomach now after some kid had accidentally bumped it when he ran past us and Tyler had just about jumped out of the chair. He sort of looked like he'd been in a car accident. His shirt was bloodied in spots and if it wasn't for the knuckles, I probably could have lied my way into getting him seen quicker that way. He was either trying for meditative pain management, or he was trying to just zone out from the environment.

I was sort of pissed off at the nursing staff. There wasn't really a question if anything was broken in his hand—you could plainly see the indent in his last knuckle, and it was all bruised and swelling—and no one had thought it was a good idea to get him ice or anything. The ice pack that I gave him at the apartment had unfortunately been left there, and I finally got up and asked for one, dropping it in his lap when I came back.

He cracked an eye open first and then slowly opened both and moved his head down to look at it before he snatched it and rested his hand on it. "Thanks."

I nodded, sighing, and grabbed a magazine off of the table next to me. When I glanced back at him, his head was back against the wall again. He looked tired. I wondered if he'd been up all night with Allison when she made it to his apartment, but I didn't ask.

There was a baby that had come in a while after us, obviously sick, and he started wailing at a pitch that was incredibly headache-inducing. That sort of put the kibosh on Tyler's attempt at napping or zoning.

He shifted in the chair instead, groaning quietly, and I cut my eyes over to him, but he wasn't looking at me. I decided to be nice. Because, ya know, he had beat up the asshole that hurt my friend and all. "You doin' ok?"

His voice was gravely when he answered tiredly, "Yeah."

"Pretend you're having a heart attack. We might get outta here faster."

He sort of scoff-laughed, and let out a deep breath. "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

Hmm. I expected more of a retort than that honestly. I tossed the magazine back on the table, distracted. "Hey, I should apologize for adding to your injuries."

He swiveled his head in my direction, appraising. "Yeah, you should."

I smirked. There was a whole lot in those three words. He wasn't subtle, that was for sure. I pursed my lips, deciding I probably owed him this much. "Yeah. So, I'm sorry."

He scoffed. "Yeah."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Hey."

His eyebrows went up. "Hey? Seriously? What the fuck do you want me to say? That it's just ok that you assumed that it _had_ to be me that fucked her up? And it's just ok that you started throwing punches without so much as a question? That's not ok. That's not ok that _I _was your first thought. And like I'd come back to her apartment then after I did that?"

"Listen, Tyler—I don't know you at all. All I know about you is what she tells me, and that hasn't been much in the last few months. And I've seen her come home with bruises before and let the asshole that did it trail in right behind her. So, yes, that was my first reaction, because protecting her will always be my first reaction. You don't have to like it, but I'm not apologizing for the reaction. I'm apologizing because you didn't do anything, and I was wrong about that."

I could tell he was taking in information he didn't know; it was just written all over his face. And for a minute, he didn't know what to say. Part of me felt like that was probably a bit of a betrayal, because I didn't air any of our dirty laundry, no matter who it was. The other part acknowledged that there was shit Tyler didn't know, or realize, and there were probably things he should have. I didn't know how much he knew, but that was obviously not something she shared yet.

"That's still not fair." He shook his head. "And the shit she may have told you about me; there's no way that I ever came across as some asshole who'd beat her. I've done everything I possibly can to make sure she's ok. And I've been patient as hell. And I never asked her for anything."

"Aww, you want a medal? That's how it should be."

"Jesus Christ. It's completely pointless talking to you."

"Truth hurts?"

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Why don't you just go wait in the coffee shop with Allison." It wasn't a question.

"Because I told her I'd stay with you and make sure you know what needs to be done about your hand."

"I can handle that myself."

"She wouldn't want me to leave you alone."

"Well I'd really like it if you left me alone. So feel free."

I couldn't help it. I was smirking. Because he was basically seething in the chair there; his body all tense, and he was deliberately trying not to look in my direction. Like a pouting kid. I tried to wipe the smirk off before I started talking again. "She'll be pissed at me if I leave. So I have to stay. And you'll just have to put up with me."

"Whatever," he said quickly, dismissively.

I went back to smirking, and he went back to his seething, and it went on like that for quite a while.

Apparently, he wasn't done though, because eventually he said in a really quiet voice, "I would never hurt her."

He seemed less boiling with anger. Actually he seemed kinda just…done.

I sighed in response.

So he turned his head toward me again. "Never."

Fucker. Ya know, it would have been much easier if he was just an asshole—if he did beat her, because then he could just be written off as the next asshole in an endless succession. I wasn't sure if it was better or worse if he wasn't. On the one hand, if he was an asshole, it would hurt her in the end. But it ended. Eventually. They always ended eventually. And moving on sucked, but it was sort of just the way things had always worked out—assholes were the only ones around, yadda, yadda, same old story. But on the other hand, if he wasn't, and things just didn't work out, she'd be hurt more. An emotional hurt that I didn't think she really ever had before. That scared me more. I didn't begrudge her a boyfriend, and I didn't want to stall her happiness, but the idea of her being genuinely happy, and then universally crushed; I wasn't sure how she'd come back from that. She'd revert back to something that I hadn't seen in a long time.

And in a lot of ways, I was sure this new Allison—the one that was slowly coming out of the shell she lived in—had a lot to do with Tyler's presence. It was funny—she really wasn't so much coming out her shell as coming into herself. She'd basically been the shell; no substance, just surface.

I loved the girl. There was just something about her.

I hadn't answered Tyler, and I was sort of lost in my own analyzing of him, but he'd been watching me the entire time. "Who hurt her before?"

I shook my head. "Not my story to tell," I told him quietly.

His eyebrows lifted once in answer, sort of rolling his eyes at me. I mean, I wasn't sure what he thought exactly. That I'd spill any story he wanted? That wasn't going to happen. "How did you meet her?" He followed that up quickly with, "Or is that a matter of stripper national security, too?"

I smirked. I suppose that wasn't telling him anything that wasn't mine to tell. "I lived in Vegas pretty much my whole life. My dad was a casino worker. Mom was a knock-off showgirl. I suppose that's how I fell into stripping. My sister and I lived together until there was _drama_, and I moved out. I'd been thinking about moving anyway; was sort of gearing up, saving money. It's hot as fuck in Vegas. I mean, it's in the fucking desert. I wanted a change, and the rent kept going up more and more—people were moving in from California. It was just time for me to move on. Allison got a job in the same strip joint I was working in. She was full of attitude. Angry. We weren't really friends, but like all strip joints, you kinda look out for each other. You don't really hang together, but you've got each other's backs if it's necessary. Our first impressions hadn't actually been great. She stole my shift, the little bitch."

He didn't interrupt me at all. Totally waited until I was smiling at the end of my recollection.

"If you weren't friends, why did she move with you?"

"You're fishing, Tyler. You'll have to go fish in Allison's pond for those answers."

He didn't press for answers; that much was true about him; Allison had said as much. And I think he got that I wasn't going to play an Allison Q&A with him.

Instead he asked, "Why are you convinced I'm such an asshole?"

Why indeed? I sort of wished I could have really answered that. Answered the big question about why she moved with me and told him about the first night I really knew Allison. It was probably the worst night of her life. Pimp Damon and all his fucking _friends_. I'd been so annoyed when she hadn't shown up for her shift, and the boss had made me go to her apartment to check on her like I was her fucking keeper or something. Her apartment was such a shithole. Not that I lived in the best digs, but compared to hers, it was a mansion. She hadn't answered the goddamn door, and I had to bribe the landlord to let me in. She didn't answer when I called out, but I could hear the shower running, and I just got tired of being ignored and waltzed right in there.

I found her in the shower, all right. I still have no idea how long she'd been in there. The water was past freezing, she was shaking uncontrollably, but was completely catatonic. I couldn't get her to talk to me for hours, and had no idea what had put her in that state.

So walking into the same kind of thing two years later wasn't exactly settling me into the idea of Tyler being such a nice guy. Catatonic was catatonic. People didn't go all catatonic from nothing. And as he'd been the one to fucking come and get me like he was confessing to making her that way—didn't exactly make me want to cozy up to him.

The main problem was that I didn't know him. And I didn't know how much of what Allison was telling me was good _was_ actually good. It wasn't that I didn't think she knew the difference, exactly. It was just that any level of positivity for her was so unexpected, so different than the norm, that it might not have been inherently _good,_ and she still would have thought it was _better_ than what she knew; and therefore good. She was so inexperienced with decency. And the Allison I met in Vegas had been so blank. Like looking at glimpses of the real her that was somewhere locked inside. Pieces. Nothing concretely her, or definable. Like ether. No identity beyond what was necessary for survival. There was really no personality there, just surface emotions. So telling her that her boyfriend might potentially just be a different kind of abuser wasn't going to go over well, and it would have been insulting for me to say that. I was just worried for her.

So until she basically had the equivalent of a nervous breakdown over attempting sex with him, I'd been really, really, really bitchy. And completely unsupportive. And I wasn't sure the route that I was taking during the catatonia recovery was the right one—I basically agreed with her. Not necessarily because I was convinced myself that Tyler was great and wonderful and amazing, but because I couldn't add any more stress for her at that moment.

And part of me _was_ jealous. That was totally true. Because if she found someone great, the bond that we built over the last year living together wasn't as necessary anymore. And that was a wonderful fucking step—it was great to see her actually becoming a definable person—but it also left me flailing for where I fit in there, and as I didn't have a current wonderful, great guy, it was just… It kinda sucked. And then, if he did turn out to be a real dick, I didn't know where we went from there. Because she'd assume she had no skills whatsoever in choosing guys. I think it'd actually turn out worse for our friendship if he was an asshole; because then there might be resentment on top of the heartache.

It was so hard to know what was good for her. She wasn't my kid, I couldn't treat her like that, and I had no right to tell her anything. But I'd been a good friend. And in so many ways, she was still childlike in that she missed out on so many things. She was a far cry from a child because of all those fucked up situations, but she'd never gotten to be a child, so the innocence that poured off of her in a backwards way was something I felt the need to protect. She made you want to protect her.

Outside as tough as nails; inside fragile and broken and extremely vulnerable. Susceptible to coercion. And if he was taking advantage of that, there'd be hell to pay.

Raw. She was always so raw.

I hadn't given him an answer yet. And he was still just staring me down. He didn't wait for one then. "I love her."

I thought I was a pretty good judge of character normally. I might have judged him a little unfairly.

"I don't want to change her. And I don't care what she's done in the past. I don't care about the prostitution."

Well, that was a surprise. Since the last time Allison and I had talked about shit, she was deathly afraid of that little nugget slipping out, and obviously that had spilled at some point.

"I just want her to be happy. And I think I can make her happy."

There was no showy reason to tell me this now. We were in the middle of a fucking ER waiting room with no one here to give a fuck about his speech. It was just for me. Seemed like a long way to go for just my opinion change.

"And she's not ready to hear any of that, but it doesn't change anything for me. I'll wait for however long she needs."

I didn't really even know what to say. I was surprised, to say the least. We spent so much time trying to one up each other that who we really were sort of just got lost in all of that. But we wanted the same things for her.

"Hawkins… Tyler," droned out of a nurse, and broke both of us out of whatever thinking/staring match we had going on. I was sort of relieved for the break. Because I needed time to think before I could actually say anything back to that.

The nurse led us back into an exam room and did the whole nurse-bit; blood pressure, temperature, pulse. She was pleasant, I suppose. Efficient. Slightly too cheery given that we'd been sitting in that waiting room for however-the-fuck-long. We must have waited another half hour or more for an actual doctor to come in. I'm pretty sure Tyler actually took a nap. When no one appeared after the nurse left, he finally just laid down on the table and closed his eyes. I was still trying to process, and he really didn't seem keen on more chatting. I think he sort of said what he wanted to, and that was the end of it.

When the doctor finally managed to show up, it was sort of hilarious how long he was actually in the room with us. He cleaned up Tyler's cheek without really saying much, and did the whole scrunchy-analytical face while he looked at his hand, prodding and pushing while Tyler hissed and grunted at the pain. When he brilliantly said, "Well, it looks broken to me," I actually couldn't even contain my noise of appalled amusement. The doctor ignored me. "I'm going to order an x-ray, have a tech bring in the machine, and then we'll go from there, but from the swelling, discoloration, and the sunken spot here where you're knuckle should be, I'm thinking metacarpal fracture."

"Yeah, ok." Tyler was obviously capable of less sarcasm than I was at the moment. I really wanted to just kind of say, _Yeah, duh—we got that part_.

The second visit from the doctor was about as fast as the first after the x-ray was taken. It took a while for the film to come back and basically he came in the room, he shoved the film up on the light box, said, "Yep—see right here? The fifth metacarpal is fractured here," pointed to it on the screen, which I'm not sure Tyler was even paying attention to, and then was all, "I'm going to call in a hand surgeon just to make sure there's nothing I'm missing." And then left.

Seriously?

It was about this same time I started getting twilling text notifications.

I pulled my phone out, and was not surprised to see it was from Allison.

_the fuck is taking so long?_

Tyler's eyes had darted to me when the phone had gone off, and I looked up at him. "She's getting impatient."

He shrugged.

I texted back: _we were in the waiting room forever. waiting on the hand surgeon now._

I got back _surgeon!?_ almost immediately.

_just the dude who specializes in hand injuries. chill. he's fine._

_how much longer?_

God, if she was gonna do this until we got out of here, it was gonna be really annoying. Like the _are we there yet? _of hospitals.

_we don't know yet. hopefully not too much longer. i'll keep you posted. how're you holding up?_

_worried. _

_he's fine. just a flesh wound. _

The door opened and who I assumed was the hand surgeon walked in. That'd been faster than I thought it would be. I texted quick _doctor's here. i'll let you know what's up as soon as we do._

"So… Hello… Tyler," he said, looking at the chart, nodding hello to me. "I'm Dr. Unis. They tell me you have a metacarpal fracture," he continued, looking at the x-ray.

Tyler didn't say anything.

"Is that right?" the doctor asked, looking at him.

"Yeah, that's what it feels like."

He smiled. "Let's see if that's what it feels like to me, too, shall we? That's certainly what it looks like." He took the ice pack off of Tyler's hand, which I realized was probably pretty useless and not even cold anymore, and pressed on his knuckle, which got the customary hiss from Tyler. I moved a little closer to see what he was doing next because no one else had done anything else. He held onto Tyler's wrist and pushed his little finger back into the knuckle.

Tyler just about jumped off the fucking table.

"Painful, huh?"

The look on Tyler's face was so fucking funny. "Yeah," he said in this terse, barely contained tone.

The doctor smiled at him again. "Make a fist for me."

Tyler complied and it looked like his little finger was bent in more; like it wasn't bending straight at all, and it looked really stiff.

The doctor nodded. "Good. Ok—your pinkie has some rotation in it, that's why it's bending inward towards your thumb like that. It's fairly normal for this type of fracture, and not too concerning to me at the moment because it's only the affected finger, and you have no open wounds from the injury. I'd be more concerned if it was affecting other metacarpals."

"Ok."

"We call this a boxer's fracture," the doctor provided, gesturing to his hand again.

Tyler just nodded and I mean, it wasn't like you could really have a great response to what the doctor was saying, but I think he was also just getting tired of being here, and being talked at.

"A lot of doctor's refer to it as a brawler's fracture instead, because boxers aren't likely to get this type of injury."

I snorted. I couldn't help myself. And the doctor smirked and winked in my direction.

"Typically, these types of fractures are common when someone punches a wall or punches someone else and doesn't have the fist tightened all the way." The doctor paused, turning on the stool he was sitting on to get something out of a drawer. "Which did you do?" Tyler didn't answer right away, so the doctor added, "The wall must have been a pretty worthy opponent to hit the rest of your face."

I chuckled, and Tyler threw me a glare. I loved this doctor.

Tyler cleared his throat. "Yeah, I hit someone else. The wall didn't bite back."

The doctor nodded. "You normally know how to throw a punch?"

"Pfft. Yeah." Tyler nodded. "I was distracted." He looked over at me with the best _the fuck!?_ look.

"Well, next time you're gonna deck someone, make sure you tuck all your fingers in, or better yet, wrap your hands first to stabilize. And make sure you don't do it for at least six months, or you're gonna be back to see me, and we'll be having a different kind of discussion about treatment, ok?"

Tyler nodded. "Yeah, ok."

"This isn't a bad break as they go; the neck of the metacarpal is fractured, but it's a little out of alignment, so I'm going to have to move it into the correct position before we can set it."

"What does that mean?"

He turned with a needle. "It means I'm going to numb your hand, and push the bone back where it needs to go."

Tyler nodded tiredly, sighing.

"There were a few small fragments that I could see on the x-ray, but splinting it should ensure it heals in the correct position and those shouldn't be a problem."

He got to work numbing Tyler's hand, sticking him twice with the needle and then sat back to wait for a minute while it took effect. He grabbed a splint while he waited, bending a piece of metal to the right angle and then checked the x-ray. "How's your hand feeling?"

"Best its felt all day."

He checked by pushing Tyler's pinkie again, and this time got no reaction, so he was good to go. It was sort of fascinatingly gross watching the doctor align the bones. He was done in a few seconds, the only discernible thing a small popping noise that was probably not something I wanted to explore.

"The splint is angled so that your finger stays in the correct position and heals the right way." It had Velcro straps, and looked easy enough to get on and off.

"How long does he have to wear that?" I asked. Questions were obviously my department as Tyler wasn't asking any.

"Most likely three weeks. I'd like to do a follow up in a week, and if it looks like it's healing well, we might be able to lose the full splint and just buddy tape the fingers. I'm guessing it might be longer than that, but we'll see how it is next week."

"What's the long-term prognosis?"

He finished securing the straps and let Tyler try out the mobility. It looked clunky. He didn't look too happy about it. "Prognosis is good—most people are out of the splint in three weeks, some physical therapy for range of motion and strengthening in weeks four to six. Until next week, he should ice it for the swelling." He turned back to Tyler. "You can take the splint off to shower, and when you do try to move the joints a little so they don't get tighter. We find that people that make sure there's some movement while it's in the splint have less complications later. If you just leave it in the splint with no movement—that can actually mean forcing surgery to correct it where it wasn't necessary before. So try to get a little bit of motion, but of course, don't overdo it."

"What can he take if it hurts?"

"Over-the-counter ibuprofen should be fine normally. I'll write a prescription for something stronger today and for the next few days. Immobilizing the break usually makes the most difference with pain, so it shouldn't be too bad. The ibuprofen will also keep swelling down. A lot of people have more pain at night with hand injuries—they tend to throb a lot. If that happens, sleeping with your arm above your heart can help alleviate that. It's kind of awkward, but when you're trying to sleep, it works. If you lose feeling at all, or experience any numbness after this initial one has worn off, call me immediately."

It's a good thing I was getting this and taking mental notes, because Tyler was totally zoning and just nodding where appropriate.

The doctor turned to me because I think he realized the same thing. "No heavy lifting, gripping, or contact sports for at least three months. Pain can last up to that time along with stiffness. He'll be prone to re-injury if he starts throwing punches without stabilization. The sunken look of the knuckle usually does not go away, but it's cosmetic and normal functional is usually fine. But you should know it will most likely look like that from now on."

I nodded. "Got it."

"Tyler? I'm serious. No fights. This one's relatively moderate. Doing it again could mean pins and plates. Surgery. Long physical therapy. Never getting function back."

"Yeah, I got it."

"Ok. Prescription." He handed off the sheet to Tyler. "You should be able to have that filled in the Pharmacy here so you don't have to go anywhere else. Stop there and at the registration desk on your way out to make an appointment for next week."

"Fuck," I said under my breath, because I'd just remembered that Tyler had taken a few punches elsewhere, and if I didn't have that checked, too, Allison was gonna be pissed. "What about your ribs?"

If looks could kill, I'd be dead. The doctor looked between the two of us for a second, before focusing on Tyler. "Do you have other injuries?"

"No," he said quickly, shaking his head.

"Just let him look quick." I got more glaring. I raised my eyebrows. "You wanna go back to her without having them checked? She'll make you turn around."

Tyler huffed out a breath. "Ugh. Fine."

The doctor gestured. "Lift up your shirt."

Tyler complied, throwing daggers my way the entire time, and the doctor ran his fingers over the bruising on Tyler's ribs. "Mmm… I don't think any are broken. Only an x-ray could say for sure, but they look more bruised than broken."

Tyler stuffed his shirt down. "Good. Yeah. There. Done." My phone trilled again; more Allison impatience. I'd wait until the doctor left to check it.

The doctor smiled at me, and then at Tyler. He was really sincere. Tyler could have been a little bit more conversational. "Take it easy today, ok? I'll see you next week." He winked at me on the way out. "Try to keep him outta trouble."

"I'll try. Thanks." I waved. I grabbed my phone.

_fucking hell, is he ok?_

_he's fine. full of charm. doc just left. we still have to make a follow-up appt and stop for a prescription. i'll text when we're done at the pharmacy. i've got all the info for what he's allowed to do and shit. _

"You ready?" I asked Tyler after putting my phone away.

He was sort of zoning out again, and it took him a minute to realize I was talking to him. "Hmm? Yeah."

It was evident when he got off the table and just stood there, that I was supposed to know where the appointment desk and the Pharmacy were. I had a sarcastic remark all prepared about not being his keeper and shit, but he actually looked even more tired than he had before, so I just let it go. I pushed him through the registration desk, like, literally almost held his hand, like a fucking go-between translator for him and the receptionist. Like they both didn't speak English. _Does Wednesday at 10 work? Tyler? Yo, pay attention here. Focus. Wednesday? 10? Do you work that day? Any reason you can't make it then? _I finally just booked the fucking appointment and when he was awake later he could change it if he needed to. He was Allison's ultimate responsibility. She'd have to make sure he made the appointment. I was already above and beyond the call of duty here.

The Pharmacy was sort of like a mini ER waiting room. Like everyone that had been in the ER was either funneled out the exit, or channeled here and then the exit. I shoved Tyler into a chair and took the prescription up there myself. He was basically useless at this point. They told me it could be like another fucking half hour wait if traffic kept up like it was, and I was just oh so happy about that.

I pulled out my phone angrily and texted Allison quickly, _they're saying up to another half hour wait on the meds. i seriously hope they're fucking kidding._

I wasn't surprised when she replied back a second later, _people probably die waiting for shit there!_

_no shit! i think i've lost years sitting here with him._

There was a small break before her next text, but I knew what was coming. _how is he?_

I took a minute before I answered her, studying him while I walked back to where I shoved him to wait. I just kept telling her he was fine, and I mean, he was... _i think he's crashing. he looks really tired. not talking much now. _

_thanks for doing this Jordan._

_yeah, i am an awesome friend. you should remember that. especially when i want something._

I was teasing her, but she still responded with: _i will._

I parked him by a wall on purpose, and I wasn't surprised when I dropped into the seat next to him that he was dozing with his head against it. He grunted but didn't otherwise acknowledge me.

I sighed, turning my head to look at him. I didn't think he was really sleeping. Just resting. And I hadn't been lying, he really didn't seem to be in a talkative mood. But I had shit I needed to say to him, so he'd just have to put up with me. "So…you love Allison," I said quietly.

His head swiveled in my direction and he opened his eyes slowly, blinking at me. "Yeah, I love her," he said just as quietly. "You know what I don't get?"

"What?"

"You fucking pushed her to date me in the first place. Why did you do that if you thought I was an asshole?"

"I don't know if I ever really thought you were an asshole. I was wary, ok? I didn't know what your intentions were at all. For all I knew you were some rich kid looking to go slumming with a Hell's Kitchen girl. And in my defense, within an hour of knowing you, we were arrested," I reminded him.

He bobbed his head back and forth a few times. "Ok. Touché. I'll give you that one. But why have your friend date someone that got you both arrested?"

I let out a breath loudly. "Honestly?"

"Yes."

"You weren't supposed to fall in love with her. You were supposed to be good for her to experience. A real dating experience. You were supposed to be a few throwaway dates and then she'd be ready to date someone for real. Or be on the path, or whatever. I never thought it would last." I waved him off. "And I suppose when it did, that annoyed me. A lot. And I think I was a little bit jealous of that, too. That you were decent from what she was saying, but I never really weighed out the positives she was telling me. I was happy to stay wary in case."

He blinked at me. "Oh."

I made the facial expression equivalent of _Eh, sorry!_

He scoffed out a chuckle. "That actually makes much more sense."

"Does it?"

"Yeah. Because otherwise you were just a whacked-out psycho stripper with a split personality."

I laughed at his assessment, and then smiled, sighing heavily. "Well, it doesn't really excuse anything. So… I'm sorry. Really. For all of it." I waved a hand. "And I'm sorry for today. For thinking the worst of you. You're right—it wasn't fair. And I'm sorry that I made shit worse."

He nodded. "Thank you." I think he was satisfied with my answer. The he shrugged, smirking at me. "What was one more injury?"

"Just one?"

"There were probably two or three."

"That's better. I wouldn't want to be short-changed."

"You can pack a punch, I'll give you that. Where you learn that?"

"Picked it up along the way."

"I don't doubt it."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	34. Chapter 34

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

* * *

**APOV**

Jesus Fucking Christ. All I wanted was a fucking cup of coffee. Just a cup of coffee. Since when did that get to be such a big goddamn deal? You order coffee, they give you a mug with shit that's too bitter, and too hot; you wince when you sip it, and then drink it down until the dregs are left.

What the fuck was a Venti toffee nut latte with soy milk? Seriously, this bitch in front of me just ordered that. I was afraid to even look at what she was gonna get.

"Can I just get a cup of coffee?"

"What kind of coffee?"

My blank look at the chick behind the counter made her add, "Brewed, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, mocha, Frappuccino... ?"

I felt like saying _c-o-f-f-e-e_ really slowly. Instead it kinda came out, "Just fucking black coffee, ok?"

Her eyebrows rose and she turned to the cash register. "We'll go with just Pike Place Roast, then. That's our house blend."

I just nodded, and shuffled, feeling really out of place in this fucking coffee shop. There were more laptops than people. The music was _horrid_. I don't think any of these musicians ever heard of a drum or anything other than an acoustic guitar.

"Name?"

My eyes jerked back up to the chick. "Mal—Allison."

She picked up a Sharpie and wrote my name on a thick paper cup with "Pike Place" under it. What ever happened to actual mugs with waitresses named Lenore or Joanne, with bad dye jobs and huge boobs, snapping their gum while asking if you wanted a refill, hon?

It's permanent. My coffee choice was written in permanent marker on a fucking paper cup.

What the shit is this? What's happened to coffee? There weren't coffee places like this in any of the other neighborhoods I lived in. You were lucky if there were those little creamers in the tubs, or flavored tubs if you were really lucky. All-night diners with Lenores and Joannes, aprons, no music, no laptops, no permanent coffee choices. It was easier.

People here seemed… Lenores and Joannes worried about you without being pushy or judgmental. They kept the cups filled and the coffee hot. They asked if you needed a cab or to call someone. This bitch behind the counter couldn't have cared less. It wasn't the same. These places weren't the same. I felt edgier here; like I had to be on guard. Which was probably why I almost said Mallory instead of Allison. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

I collected my permanent Pike Place coffee when they called my name out between all the other random people in this place, and choose a seat that had a view of the street and the hospital, but kept me in a corner, too. No one could come up to me without me seeing them coming at me.

I didn't know why I was even bothering to do that. I hadn't done it in months. There wasn't a reason to do it now, but it was almost like slipping back into something from NOLA or Vegas. I wasn't sure how I felt about that either. I wasn't sure how I felt about a lot of things at the moment.

I texted Jordan. They'd been in there already for fuck knows how long. I was worried about him; nearly spilled my coffee when she answered back about a surgeon. I wished I could have gone in with him. The wait wouldn't have been as bad then.

I wasn't sure I'd ever _thought _this much about anything before. I had so many things bouncing around, and I was worried about Tyler, worried about what he'd done to his hand, worried about what he did to the fucking landlord, worried about what the fucking landlord would do back…and that brought up thoughts about what had happened last night… And… And I think I was kinda fucked up about the whole thing. Not about sex with Tyler; never that; that was the only truly great thing that had happened, period. But…just about…everything else.

He asked me before if fucking last night was the right time, for the right reasons, and if it was a reaction to the landlord. And I wasn't lying when I told him that it wasn't just a reaction. I wanted it—I wanted to have sex with him. And that was totally something I hadn't wanted before. That was probably really fucked up, too—to never really want to fuck the person you're with. But that was business as usual.

I don't think I could really compare what business as usual was with what happened last night. Probably because it was the first time I was really…_there_ during sex. It's laughable to say I've had experience with fucking. All I did was fuck. I should be an expert, but with Tyler, it wasn't a job, and when it's a job, it's not really an experience at all. It's mechanical. No feeling. And there's nothing _but _feeling with Tyler. In a way, it was almost too much. So much more than I was ever used to, but it was so fucking amazing that I never wanted to go back now.

It's like there are two roads, right? And on one side is all the shit I've seen, all the shit I've done, and on the other side is what everyone bullshittingly tells you is the way it's _supposed_ to be. But when you're on the shit side of the road, that other way is just a pipedream. It's not real. It can't be real. And then Tyler comes along and he's all in the middle of both roads trying to pull me over to the supposed-to road and it's just all a little bit too good. And the really fucked up thing is that I want it to be. I want it to be too good. I want it to really be that way.

So then if that's the way it's _supposed _to be, why do asshole landlords still fuck with my shit? And why did Tyler not see what assholes like the landlord do?

I mean, I wasn't stupid. You don't get by on being a whore without knowing things about the way of the world. And normal people don't pick prostitution as their job. And guys like the landlord will never see me as anything other than what I was. And… I was ok with that. I don't really give a fuck what they think anyway, and it wasn't like we were going to be having conversations, ever, but guys like him in particular just pick up on who I used to be.

And I don't know if people can ever really lose who they used to be. Maybe I'll always be Mallory. But Tyler never agreed with me on that.

Telling him I was a whore was strangely not as horrible as I thought it would be from the start. And I was just as strangely calm. I think because by that point, after fighting off the landlord and having the fear of losing Tyler over whatever that last thing was going to be, there was sort of no point to hiding it anymore. It was basically like throwing all your chips in because the outcome was either going to be the worst night of your life, and then might as well get it over with all at once, or it was going to go a better way, and like usual, he was just a bucketful of surprises. I suppose I didn't hide it as well as I thought I did. He wasn't stupid, and he was good with putting shit together. But maybe that just meant that I didn't hide my past as well as I thought I did. Or maybe he was really telling the truth and it didn't matter to him. That'd be another first.

He made me sloppy. All of his patience and gentleness, everything about him and the way he made me feel made me so sloppy. I would never have let the landlord into my apartment like that in Vegas. Not alone. You just didn't do that shit. But he made me feel like it was safer. Safer to let my guard down a little.

Funny, I couldn't really say I was unhappy about that, or cared. Feeling safer was actually so much easier than constantly being guarded.

I wouldn't want to go back to that. Ever. It's so fucking tiring—watching out for yourself every minute of every day. It basically becomes the only thing you do. You spend your whole day thinking about how you can get out of this room, that cab, how this way home is safer, how this trick is more dangerous than most. Life becomes reduced to eating, sleeping, pissing, and watching. Always watching. There wasn't anything else. Well there was fucking. Fucking always seemed to force its way in there.

I thought when I first met Damon that things might change. I hadn't hooked since NOLA. He was a regular in the club and sort of just… He always talked to me, was decent in the club. Hands to himself unless he paid for something. He said he'd watch out for me, keep me safe, and it was nice, but probably pretty fucking naïve of me to buy his bullshit. But he said all the right things, he was nice to me, he had money, and I thought he seemed powerful. _He_ definitely always thought he was powerful, and other people respected him. It had always been about sex anyway—I don't know why I didn't see that from the beginning. But I'd never had a real boyfriend; I didn't know what that meant. And trading sex for something expensive and nice, something I never dreamed of having before, how did I know that wasn't _dating_? That's what he called it anyway. It wasn't like he ever got me off. It was like an exchange—sex for dinner, sex for clothes, always sex for something. It was more than I got from johns.

By the time it was clear to me it was anything else, it was too fucking late. Turns out Damn had a lot of _girlfriends. _Then _dating_ meant he had a _friend_ that he wanted me to see. And it would be _great_ if I could give this guy a blowjob so the business deal he had going down went smoothly. What was fucking a guy for him if he paid my rent for a month? He was always really fucking quick to point out the long list of other things he'd given me, what he _provided_. He liked that word a lot.

Of course eventually, what he _provided_ meant I was supposed to do whatever he wanted whether I got anything for it or not. I had a pimp without ever really knowing it was happening. And by the time I realized, by the time he'd basically forced me back into hooking, I was stuck. And anytime I said I didn't want to, when he didn't bring up the list of shit he was providing, he was quick to push drugs, or launch into his speech about getting someone else. And given what I could have been making just stripping, the small cut I got was better than any regular job I could have gotten. And the _clients_ were higher class than what you got on the street.

The rub was he knew what I liked; he was good at finding out what you liked when he was being the nice guy. I watched him do it to other girls; watched him flirt and reel them in like the psycho-pimp fisherman he was. Bait, hook, switch. Hell, he'd done it to me, and that wasn't an easy thing to do. I thought I knew better. Thought I was smarter. But he was good at it. And once he pushed _K_, I think he knew he had me. Because I could always do a line and zone out, and he knew he could use it. What the fuck did I care really when I wasn't even there? What did it matter if I wouldn't remember it? You just reach a point where you don't give a fuck anymore. It's just what you do, it's what is. It's reality. So you might as well get whatever you can out of it.

What's fucking crazy is that even that, even that…regularity to the _arrangement _that Damon and I had, there was a safety in it. I knew what was expected, what he expected, and I could sort of count on it. He didn't let clients get out of control; didn't let them stiff on paying.

But then he erased that, too. He never pimped me out to more than one person before. It was always one on one, maybe two blowjobs at a party, but never more than that. _That_ night… I had no idea. Even when I agreed and he'd said a few _friends_… I had no fucking idea. It's better that I don't remember a lot. I'm not sure what I could do with it if I remembered more. I just shut down. I was high, and that point was probably the lowest of my entire life. I didn't fight back; I didn't try to stop them. I think I reached a point of just not caring and that night was just me completely dead inside. It didn't matter what they did really. No meant nothing, so there was no point in saying it at all.

It was sort of like that last bit of any safety net disappeared. And while I probably should have been afraid of Damon all along, I wasn't until that night that it all came crashing down. And then I never felt safe again. I was back to watching all the time. And I knew I never wanted it to happen again. Even if there was nothing else to hurt, nothing else they could really do to me, I knew enough that I didn't want it to happen again.

Jordan says I was a complete mess after that night. I don't really remember. I don't remember her finding me. All I know is what she's told me. And the next thing I remember is telling Damon that I was never going to do that again, that he couldn't force me to do it, and that if he tried, I'd leave.

He didn't take it so well. Standing up in general was never a good idea. I'd never seen Damon truly angry. I'd seen him pissed enough to backhand other girls. I'd seen the baseball bat he kept behind his desk that all he had to do was bring it out and set it on top of his desk and people caved. I thought when he picked it up that it was all over, and he was gonna bash me in the head with it. Instead he slammed it on the desk, splintering off a corner, and he smashed a picture on the wall less than two feet from where I was standing. Glass fell all over the floor next to me. I remember staring it at and thinking that could have been my head. But then he was right there, all rage and crazy, pushing me into the wall. I suppose I got off easily; it could have been much worse. He smacked me around while yelling about how much money that made him; and that I should be grateful. When he finally threw me down, I didn't realize right away what the explosion of pain in my arm was about. He'd broken my fucking arm.

I'd never broken anything before that. It was really fucking painful. And he drove me to the ER himself. I mean, I got the whole speech about the story I should tell, that I tripped and fell and he didn't come in with me, but he took me at least. Told me if I told the cops, the bat would come back and he'd find me. That I could never leave him. That I made him do this to me because I wanted to leave.

He was strangely nice to me after that. Gave me time off; no hooking, told my bosses at the club that I was going to be off of work for a while. He paid for everything. And it was sort of nice. Like it had been at the beginning. He didn't even ask for sex. I thought maybe things would be ok.

Jordan didn't seem to think so. She calls it the "Are you fucking nuts?" speech. Because those were her first words to me when I said he was being nice and things were back to how they had been. She'd been planning to move to New York. And we weren't really friends; I didn't have friends. Friends were fleeting, and they got you nowhere. But she sort of looked in on me after that night. And basically told me that if I didn't get out now, when he wasn't expecting it, that he'd kill me eventually. It was sort of slap to the face. And she said I could come with her. Help drive. Get a place and start over in New York. We hadn't planned on being roommates really; I thought I'd pretty much never see her again once we got to New York. But things were cheaper if you lived together, and we were both strippers, so it was easier than we thought to get a job in the same place.

I think Jordan kind of laying it out for me is what really did it. It wasn't like I didn't know what was going on, but having it put in front of you, having it shoved in your face is sort of wake up call. And I never regretted leaving. I think she was right; I think he would have killed me eventually. Or I would have been so dead anyway, I might as well have been.

It was weird, because with the landlord, my first thought was that it was just the same old thing. Guys use and abuse, and it was easier to just let them get what they wanted and then be done with it. There was really no point to fighting.

But… I wasn't a whore anymore. I wasn't soliciting, and the asshole had no fucking right. I didn't have to lie there and just take it. I had Tyler, and Tyler cared about me. And Tyler was the only one who got to touch me like this now. I didn't have to take this shit. And I cared. I cared enough for Tyler. I didn't want that asshole to take something that should be Tyler's. And I fought back in a way I hadn't in a long fucking time.

I texted Jordan again finally, _fucking hell, is he ok?_

She replied back: _he's fine. full of charm. doc just left. we still have to make a follow-up appt and stop for a prescription. i'll text when we're done at the pharmacy. i've got all the info for what he's allowed to do and shit. _

I sighed, frustrated. I mean, I was kind of really pissed off at him for going after the landlord at all; especially after I told him not to. He just wasn't worth it. And Tyler had a terrible temper; and a really shitty grasp on self-control. I couldn't claim to be any better really, but I thought I mellowed in the last few years. I definitely thought twice before going off on someone and potentially getting my as ass arrested or dead.

Jordan sent another text: _they're saying up to another half hour wait on the meds. i seriously hope they're fucking kidding._

Fucking hell. I could only drink so much coffee. I was probably going to be tweaking from the caffeine all night. And for fuck's sake, God forbid we ever have a real emergency. I texted back _people probably die waiting for shit there!_

I asked how he was and wasn't really surprised by her answer. He'd been up practically all night with me, and we didn't exactly get a lot of sleep then. I thanked Jordan again and was really grateful she was my friend. I didn't make lasting friendships, so I was lucky she stuck around.

I don't know if I zoned out or what, but it didn't seem that long then and I could see them come out of the hospital doors. They crossed the street and I just kind of waited for them to come in, waving them over to the table.

Tyler plopped down in the chair next to me. He had his hand tucked into his stomach. The brace looked really huge for just a broken knuckle. "Hey."

"Hi." I nodded to his hand. "Are you ok? How's your hand?"

He waved me off with his other hand. "It's fine." He did look really tired. He made a slow grab for my coffee cup, and took a long sip. "Your face looks worse. Maybe you should have it looked at while we're here."

I shook my head. "It's fine."

He smiled softly at me, pushing the cup back.

Jordan stayed standing, and just launched right into shit. "Ok, so basically, your boyfriend threw a shitty punch—"

"He fucking caught me off guard. There was nothing wrong with my punch."

She tisked at him and then ignored. "And because of that, broke his pinky knuckle." She stopped to chuckle. "If he does it again, he'll do some more shit to it, and so he shouldn't." She glared at him. "Like, ever. But for sure for like six months or something. The important part is that he shouldn't go around punching more people."

Tyler said something under his breath, but I was trying to focus on Jordan.

"The brace thing is all angled so the bone heals right. He's supposed to wear it for three weeks, but he has an appointment for recheck next week, and then the doc will decide if he can take it off or not." She smirked at me. "His doctor was so funny. And kind of a smart ass. I loved him."

Tyler sighed.

"Um, he'll need some physical therapy after. He can take the thing off to shower and then he's supposed to move the fingers so they don't get tighter. Ibuprofen for pain, 'cept he has these killer pills for the next few days." She handed me the bag. "He can ice for pain, and he's supposed to keep it up over his head if it hurts." She took a breath, sighing, and counted off on her fingers while talking, "No lifting, sports, picking shit up. Can be painful and stiff. And he'll have that sunken shit in his knuckle forever, but it's supposed to be fine function-wise." She twisted her mouth thinking. "And yeah, just no fights. Or he'll need surgery and pins to fix that fucked up shit." She blew out a breath. "There should be most of those instructions in with the 'scrip, too, and the time when his appointment is, 'cause there was no way he was taking any of that shit in, but that's the abbreviated version. The end. Done. Let's go home. I want a beer. And my own ibuprofen."

She turned and walked out, leaving both of us kind of just sitting there. She turned when she was at the door. "Jesus Christ, you assholes, let's fucking go. We've been here forever."

Tyler smirked. "I think I've worn out her patience."

I shook my head. "She doesn't usually have any."

"She was pretty nice to me…relatively speaking," he said as we got up.

"Relatively speaking?"

"I'll tell you later," he said when we got to the door.

She was already hailing a cab when we got outside. "You're paying for the cab, lover boy."

"Of course I am."

I thought he'd say that more sarcastically, but they sort of shared this smirk that was just fucking weird to see from the two of them, and we piled in the cab, me in the middle.

"You wanna just crash at my place when we get back?" I asked.

"No, of course not." He shook his head, grabbing my hand. "We'll go back to my place."

"K." I leaned over more, resting my head on his shoulder, and turned our hands over, running my thumb gently over his knuckles. This hand looked like shit, but at least it wasn't split open and broken. I sort of forgot Jordan was in the cab, I think. His cheek pressed into the top of my hair and I think we were both kind of dozing. Jordan clearing her throat pulled both of us back to the present.

"You two wanna cuddle in the cab all night, or you gonna come up?"

I couldn't really put my finger on it, but something was different with Jordan. Maybe Tyler would tell me later, but whatever they talked about, she seemed a lot less pissy with him. She kept smirking all the time. I felt like I was missing the joke.

I packed some shit quickly; Tyler pretty much sat on the bed and zoned out while I moved around the room. We cabbed it back to his apartment, too—it was just faster even if it was more expensive.

I was sort of glad Aidan wasn't home when we got there. I liked him a lot, but I really sort of just wanted quiet, and he wasn't exactly known for that.

I hadn't really paid attention, but I really probably should have had him change before we left my apartment. His shirt looked like he'd been in an accident, and I was also kinda pissed that the bloodstains alone hadn't gotten him seen sooner. I suppose they weren't that sympathetic when it looked like he'd been in a fight. I was unpacking some of the shit I'd thrown in my bag at my apartment when he started trying the buttons on the shirt. He was pretty much doing it one handed, and I moved over to help him unbutton it.

"Does your hand hurt? You want one of the pills the doctor gave you?"

"Nah, it's still kinda numb from the shot. But I can't feel my other fingers yet either, so… " he explained.

"What shot?"

"He numbed it to move the bone back into place."

I cringed. "Oh, fuck. I'm glad I wasn't there for that part."

He chuckled. "Yeah, it made a pretty gross noise. Kinda cool though, too."

"Only a guy would say that—bones moving is cool."

He shrugged, smiling as I pushed the shirt off his shoulders. "Hey… How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Really, or are you just saying that?"

"Were you just saying your hand was fine?" I asked, grinning.

"No, my hand is fine. Just broken."

"I don't think I'm broken."

He watched me for a minute before he answered. "Ok." He nodded. "You wanna talk about it?"

I considered that. "No. I don't think so. I had a lot of time to think about it while I was waiting for you." I think the whole prostitution thing was enough for the moment.

"Was that good?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I guess so. I think I figured some things out I hadn't before."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm kinda pissed off at you." I said it while running my hand over the rather large bruise forming on his ribs.

He watched me do it but brought his head up again. "Why are you pissed at me?"

"Because I asked you not to fuck up the landlord. And you did it anyway."

He sighed. "Ah." He started pulling my shirt over my head, which was largely useless because he was only using one hand, and I wound up with most of it stuck around my head. I sputtered while taking it off the rest of the way. His eyes moved over my body as well, his fingers tracing my own bruises. "When I look at these, I'm not sorry."

"No, I'm not sorry you beat him up. I mean, there's no love lost there. I'm not going to pretend I didn't like seeing him all bloody. But you're just really lucky all the time that you don't start something with someone that can really hurt you. He could have had a knife or a gun, Tyler."

His eyebrows rose. "Well I really don't think he's the type."

"That's really not the point," I said, dropping my hand from him. "I don't want you getting hurt. And when I ask you not to do something, it'd be nice if you didn't do it. You can't solve everything with your fist."

I turned back to my bag and he stepped behind me, pulling me back into him. His hands rested over my stomach, the brace all bulky and awkward. I rested my hands over it, leaning back more. "It probably won't surprise you that you're not the first person to say that to me, huh?"

I blew out a chuckle. "No, it doesn't really surprise me."

He nuzzled into my head. "I'm not sorry that I fucked him up. But I am that I did it when you asked me not to. I promise I won't do that again." He paused. "No matter how much I might want to beat the ever-living shit out of someone. If you ask me not to, I won't."

"So you're only promising in terms of beating people up?"

I could feel the smile on his face. "No. I promise if you ask me not to do something, whether it has to do with beating people up or not, I won't do it. I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss into my cheek.

"Thank you."

He squeezed me and then let go, toeing off his shoes and dropping to the bed with a groan. "Shit. Not beating people up will save me a lot of pain."

I smiled, watching as he lay back on the bed carefully. "Yeah, it will." He popped the button on his jeans and pushed the zipper down, watching me watch him.

"I should have taken your bra off when I was over there. I can do that one handed."

My smile morphed into something much more amused. "Yeah, I'm sure you can."

"Should I demonstrate? You could come over here and I could show you."

"What are you gonna do about my jeans?"

"That might require some assistance. I'm good, but… Ya know, my hand's numb. You could assist with mine, too, if you were so inclined."

"Well, I wouldn't want to turn down the needy."

I tugged his jeans off gently, and tossed mine in a pile with them before crawling up the bed and over him. He didn't waste any time, flicking the clasp when it was in reach, and smirked up at me. "I'm so impressed," I said completely flatly.

"Imagine what I could do with two hands."

"I know what you can do with two hands. You think you can keep up if you only have one to use?"

"I think I'll do just fine."

I shoved at his face, not really sorry that he hissed at the contact, and dropped to tuck into him, my head on his chest. His arm curled around me, and it was just kind of funny how awkward the brace made that.

"Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened in the hallway?"

"I think you know. I just snapped. And all I could think about was hitting him. It didn't really matter to me that you'd asked me not to. I never really thought about that at all."

"Did it help?"

He took a deep breath, and let it out, and I loved the way it forced me to follow him, my head moving with his chest. "I dunno. Yeah."

"Did you feel better?"

He chuckled, but it was one of those non-humorous kinds. "Yes and no. I still can't change what he did to you. But I'm glad the chances of him trying it again are pretty slim. When I think about what could have happened… I can't handle that. I think that's what sort of pushed me over."

"If he'd raped me?"

I don't think he liked how I just threw that word around. He tightened his grip on me and I could tell his other hand moved up to his face. "That, yes, but after. What he would have done to you after."

"What do you mean?"

"If he'd hurt you, and left you there just to bleed to death or whatever."

"I don't think that was his plan."

"Plans fall apart. He could have." He paused for a second. "It doesn't matter. He might have. And I can't… I can't… deal with the thought of losing you. That terrifies me completely."

"Losing you scares me, too."

"I didn't do this either. I didn't get involved with anyone because getting involved means you care. And I'm fucked if I care. Because caring means if they leave, or they go away, or they fucking die, then you're just left with all that care and nothing to do with it. And I can't do that again. I won't lose it again. I won't lose you."

"I didn't have any kind of long-term relationship after Michael died. Not in six years. Aidan is the only person that I've kept anything long-term with and only because he won't fucking go away. I don't get close to people. I pushed them away just as much as you did. I didn't want to get close because leaving, or watching them walk away couldn't hurt me anymore. But I can't do that with you. I can't walk away and I don't want to. And I don't want you to walk away, but that'd be so much better than you just being gone. I can't handle someone else I love just being gone."

Someone else I love.

"That's what I thought of when I saw him in the hallway."

I don't think he realized what he'd said there. And he didn't press it, so I didn't ask, either. I really didn't know what to do with that anyway. I mean, I knew I cared about him, and I knew I had intense feelings for him, but another day. "Ok. I'm not quite as pissed anymore."

He laughed and squeezed me again. "I'm glad."

"I don't plan on going anywhere."

He sighed. "Good. Me neither."

I snuggled closer, rubbing my cheek into his chest before pressing a kiss there, too. I felt one land on the top of my head in answer. My hand had landed on top of his on this stomach while we were talking and I tangled our fingers together.

Another kiss pressed into the top of my head. "You wanna have sex with me?"

I snorted, because it pretty much came out, "Yawannahavesexwithme," and I angled my head up to look at him, smiling. "Yes," I said quickly. I liked a lot things about that. I liked that he just flat out asked. And the way he did it was quiet, sweet, and completely happy. The smile he had on his face was lazy and playful, and had I said no, I don't think it would have changed it at all really. And I hadn't been expecting it. Not that I hadn't thought about it—but I dunno, I guess I didn't really know what the rules were for sex. Or even if there were any. It wasn't that I didn't want to ask, or that I was afraid to, or that I thought I'd be asking too soon or something… It was just really new, and I was grateful that he brought it up first. I was comfortable with him, but I was still grateful.

We sort of just laid there for a few seconds, just smiling at each other before I pressed my lips to his. It seemed like such a simple thing, but I loved that I could kiss Tyler. Just anytime I wanted. Whenever the hell I felt like it. The closeness and what you could do with a kiss was really kind of amazing. And I think that was kind of the point—that it meant something. Which is why I'd never done it before Tyler—I hadn't wanted it to mean anything, it _didn't _mean anything, and… I wanted that one thing, I think. Just for myself. I wanted to feel something when I kissed someone. I wanted the stomach flip-flops, and the way my lips tingled when his pressed against mine.

I licked at his mouth to get him to open it, and lapped at his upper lip. I loved the expression on his face—the way his forehead would crinkle, and his eyes would close, the quiet moan he let out into my mouth. The way his fingers tightened on my body. The way he followed my mouth if I moved back, or seek it out if I pulled away. The way he used his tongue to get my lips to open, too. The way it felt like he could steal the air from me.

I even loved the way we both had matching splits in our lips at the moment. Mine was on the right; his was on the left—that was the only difference. When I ran my tongue over his cut, there was still just a hint of that coppery taste of blood left.

I pushed my hand up his chest to cup his cheek, my fingers tangling in his hair. He never pulled away or made it seem like he wanted to be doing something else. My pace. Always.

"You're not naked. And I'm not either. This is a problem."

I pushed off of his chest, sighing like it was really bothering me. "I have to do everything, don't I?"

"Well, not usually."

"This is why you shouldn't go around punching people, Tyler. You've totally fucked up my new sex life now."

He laughed. "I'm very sorry. We'll just have to get creative."

"Creative, huh?" I pulled off his boxers.

"Yeah." He shrugged, cocking his head to the side to watch me take off my underwear. "Creative," he said, as his eyes pulled up to meet mine again.

"What does creative mean?"

"It means I really fucking hope those condoms made it into your bag, or we've got an even bigger problem. And then, I dunno. We're both kind of fucked up. We'll figure out something that works with minimal pain on both our parts."

I darted to my bag and tossed the box at him. "It's a good thing you're a man with a plan."

He nodded, setting the box on the nightstand before turning and hooking his finger at me. "C'mere."

I might have sort of leapt back on the bed, landing back where I'd been, and he flipped us almost instantly. His good hand dropped between my legs; thumb busy rubbing my clit, fingers rubbing my pussy while he kissed me again. I fisted my hand in his hair, legs spreading, already getting wet. Fuck, he was good at this.

All I could think about was having him inside me again.

He left my mouth for my tits, sucking each nipple into his mouth, tongue circling and flattening. I couldn't stop my hips from arching up into his hand. He was right; he only fucking needed one.

But I didn't want to come this way. "Please, Tyler," I said, breathing all hitched and spotty, "Inside me."

After almost an entire lifetime of fakeness, it felt so… honest and real to say that to him, and actually mean it. Nothing put on; no lies. Just truth and fact.

He nodded, brushing his forehead against mine as his lips did the same. I loved when he did that. It was another simple thing; just a touch that said, _I'm here_.

He rolled to grab the box of condoms, and I giggled when getting the box open didn't work so well with one hand, and he wound up ripping the side with his teeth. Then I just giggled more when he did the same thing with the wrapper, spitting the piece out. Once he'd done all that work, he sighed looking at the condom.

Packages and wrappers were bad enough; it was tricky to get a condom on with one hand. I dissolved into more giggles while he smirked at me. "Gimme that." I held out my hand and put it on for him while he kept smirking.

"Thanks," he said, groaning at my lingering hand on him, and then rolled back over me. I anticipated his next obstacle before he did—when you could only balance on one hand and couldn't use the other one to line yourself up. He dropped his head to my chest. "Jesus."

I snickered and reached for him, lining him up.

His head came up again and he kissed me gently. "Thanks. Again."

"No problem."

One deep push inside, my thighs framing him, my hands on his sides—he felt so close—like the first time. Because of the brace, he was balancing on his elbows and forearms, and he started so gently; everything reminded me of the first time. The way he watched me would have been unsettling to me a while ago, but it didn't feel that way now. I don't think I'd ever felt like someone _knew_ me as well as he did. The friction was so fucking amazing.

He told me last night that he wanted me to find out what I liked, and to try whatever I wanted. And when I moved to try something different, he'd just adjust and watch me some more. I liked my thighs framing his more than my legs spread wider. If he thrust really deep, hooking my ankles and locking myself around him was so fucking good. Just such little things could mean a completely different feeling. It sort of felt like if he wasn't deep, then there wasn't really a whole lot of point to it. What was the point if I couldn't feel him?

He picked up the pace a little, sliding in and out faster, pushing in harder, his balls slapping against my ass. He kept alternating between watching my expressions to find out what I liked for himself, and when he wasn't trying so hard for me, I loved the way his eyes would close when he pushed inside. I liked that it felt as good for him as it did for me.

I came shaking, gripping his neck, and pulling him closer to me. The rush of pure pleasure was still surprising to me. I wondered if it would always be like that; if it would always surprise me.

It felt like a lot more than just the physical release.

He hadn't come yet. I think it was much harder to thrust this way—more tiring. He had less leverage balancing on his elbows than he would have if he'd been using his hands. And looking up at him, his face completely open with the tiniest of smiles breaking out, all I wanted was to know what he liked. I wanted to watch him come knowing that.

So I pushed at his chest. "Flip us over. On your back."

For someone with a fuckton of experience with sex, I couldn't say what any guy really liked. I knew what got most guys off. But this was different; for the first time I really wanted to know what he wanted, what would make him happy. The easiest was probably to ask, but I wasn't sure he'd flat-out tell me. He was funny that way; he'd insist I ask for whatever I wanted, and was pretty fucking selfless, but if I asked him something along the same lines, he'd tell me it wasn't important, or that he wanted whatever I wanted. So I was going to have to be sneakier than that.

I was sitting up on him; my hands on his chest, his on my sides. I started running my hands down his chest, to his stomach, flicking my thumbs over his nipples, tracing back up to his collarbone and following it to his shoulders. He just let me touch him for a few minutes, and it was amazing just how much different and intimate sex was when actual touching was involved. It all felt so much more focused. When his hand moved to knead my tit, I pushed it back down and shook my head, but I didn't say anything. He cocked his head a little bit on the pillow, silently questioning, but I didn't give him an answer. I dipped to press a kiss on his sternum and licked all the way up his neck, over his chin and up to his mouth, his moan disappearing in the kiss.

I started to move once we were kissing again, slow strokes up and down on him, until his hands moved lower to help lift me on and off of him.

That was my cue to move a little faster, a little harder. I knew instantly why watching me during sex was so informative. Because when you were the one being watched, you were just reacting, but when you were doing the watching, nothing could be missed. In a way both watching and being watched were complete reaction. Maybe that's what sex was about anyway.

But… I couldn't let it go—I wanted to watch while I knew I was doing what he wanted. I couldn't really explain it; I just wanted him to have it. I wanted him to tell me. I slowed a little again, touching his face, thumb scraping over the stubble over his lip, on his chin—it was thicker on his chin than it was over his lip. He never let it grow really long, but I wondered what he'd look like with beard. He looked up at me again in question.

"Hey, I want to know what you want," I said quietly.

"I've got what I want."

I shook my head, smiling. "With this. Here. I want to know what you want here."

"This is good. What you're doing is good. Whatever you wanna do."

"No, see, it's not. That doesn't work. I want you to tell me."

"Why?" He asked me that so…genuinely curious, it kind of took me a minute to figure out an answer.

I shrugged, stopping the motion for a minute. "Because. Because I want to know what makes you happy."

"You make me happy. This makes me happy."

I shook my head. "I don't want just some blow off answer. You never let me get away with that shit. I don't want you to hold back, or not tell me."

"Ok…"

Honestly, I kind of wanted to know everything. I wanted to know what kinks he had, what kinds of things he thought about. I never really thought much about what assholes like Damon used to say were johns' fantasies. It was just my job to help them get off whatever way they wanted. I never really thought about what I wanted, either. Fuck, did I have kinks? I think I was quickly figuring out what it felt like or meant to really, really want something, or want to give it to someone else. And I think I got why Tyler was always so giving.

"Right, so…whatever you want. Don't worry about what it is. Just tell me. No matter how fucked up you think it is. Just blurt it out and don't think about it." His smirk kept getting bigger the longer I talked. "What?!"

"You think I have fucked up things that I want you to do to me?"

I shrugged. "No. I just mean, if you think it's fucked up, I don't care, and it's probably not, so just tell me."

He chuckled. "And if I do have fucked up things that I want you to do…you'll do them?"

"Yeah, 'course."

He sat us up suddenly, kissing me quickly and pressed his forehead to mine. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "K, first, that's really, really, really nice of you to offer. And I'm not sure I have anything extraordinarily fucked up for you to do to me. But we don't have to do any of that right now, either. Ok? I mean, if you want that, whatever you want—I'm cool with that. Just let me know. But we don't have to… We can just…be… We can just do this. Be like this. I'm really happy with this. You don't need to do anything special, or different. I'm happy with just you. I just want you."

I couldn't really respond. Because if I opened my mouth, I think I'd just fall apart. He was always able to do that to me when I completely didn't see it coming at all. And then I'd just be an emotional mess until I got myself back under control.

I think he thought I felt rejected or something, because he kissed my forehead and tried to fix it like he said something wrong. "I didn't mean… Fuck. If you want me to come up with something different, I can. I just don't want you to feel like you have to do something—anything—that you think is fucked up to make me happy."

I waved him off, and realized that keeping it back when he'd just go on talking shit like that was pretty much pointless. So I sort of let the breath I'd been holding just push out, and the sob that went with it come out, too. The tears just kind of tumbled out, too.

His eyes closed for a second and he let his own deep breath out, pulling me into a hug. "Allison…"

I don't know why, but that kinda just made me cry more.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, pulling back then to wipe at the tear tracks with his thumbs. "I didn't want to… Tell me how to fix it. What can I do?"

"God, just… Shut the fuck up for a second, ok?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, ok."

I was proud that it didn't take me that long to stop. Mostly because I knew he totally misunderstood what I'd been crying about, and I wanted him to stop feeling bad. I sniffed, and tried to wipe the last of the tears away. "Ugh. You didn't do anything. It's just that, you know, when I think about all the shit that…" I stopped when I realized that I was about to just start blurting shit about being a hooker, and that might not have been the best topic during sex.

"What?" His eyes were all searching and intense, waiting. "When you think about all the shit that what?"

"I don't know if it's the best time…"

"Allison," he breathed it more than said it, in a sort of frustrated sigh. "Just tell me. I don't care if it's the best time or not."

"It just might be kind of weird conversation." I gestured to us.

His face lost the frustrated questioning look, and his lip went behind his teeth, trying to hide the smile. "It's probably not weird for us. Just tell me what you were going to say."

"When I think about all the shit that I was told to do, or had to do whether I wanted to or not, it's just nice when someone doesn't automatically expect something." I wasn't looking at him. I don't know why. I don't think I could really talk about this yet that…freely or whatever, like it _was_ just a part of regular conversation. I spent so much time building around it. "So for you to just say that—that I didn't have to do anything special. It kind of hits home—really hard…" I trailed off, shrugging. Just me. All he wanted was me. No Mallory. No one but just me.

"Oh."

I smirked, a little laugh with it. _Oh_ just wasn't quite the same as that last tear-pulling speech. I ran my finger over a little mark by his shoulder; a freckle or something, focusing there instead of his face. "I want you, too. All of you. Whatever it is." I wanted all his fucked-up-ness; if there was some. I think I really did. I wasn't sure if that made me really warped myself, or not, but I wasn't going to over-think that tonight.

He pulled my chin up. "That's good then, right?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Good." He nodded back, kissing me quickly.

I moved my hands up to his neck, my fingers combing up through his hair. I liked that his hair wasn't a neat, straight line in the back, it sort of all came back into a peak. I tugged on the ends of his hair while kissing him again. "Tell me what you want. Or tell me something that you like. Something you like that I do to you."

He moaned into the kiss. "I like when you do that with my hair."

I did it again, smiling as I pressed my forehead to his and started to move on him again. I brought my hands forward, skimming my fingertips over his ears, and was surprised when the moan he let out was louder than before. So I did it again. And giggled when it got the same reaction.

I felt… I don't know how to describe it. It was exciting—my stomach was all fluttery—and I almost felt impatient, like I had to hear more of those sounds. I wanted him to make more of them, and needed to know how to get him to keep doing it. I kissed the corner of his mouth. "What else?"

"My neck."

My fingertips dropped immediately, brushing lightly over the sides of his neck, behind his ears, and any rhythm that he was keeping with me while I moved on him stopped instantly. I pushed us back to the bed, pressing my lips to the spots my fingers had just touched, and he actually shuddered under me. I mean—there was nothing better than this. I wondered if I did that, too. Did I do that when he did something I liked?

I made sure there was no part of his neck that didn't get some kind of attention. I licked behind his ear, and was pretty sure he was gonna be sporting a really huge hickey when I got a little too overexcited at the way he was reacting to me. I nibbled on his earlobe and was actually really surprised that his ears were that fucking sensitive. It just wouldn't have ever crossed my mind to even try that shit.

My hands had sort of just hovered around his shoulders while I was busy with his ears and neck, and he started pushing them down on his chest, stopping when they were over his nipples. I took the hint and started rubbing my thumbs over them, and I fucking loved this. I loved how he would nuzzle his face into me and lean into my mouth, and how his breath sounded all panted in my ear, and those amazingly sexy and fuck-worthy moans that made my hips move faster on him.

And I loved that he didn't really have to actually say anything—he could show me what he wanted. That he just held my hips for a second and that I knew he wanted it a little slower without having to…order me. Not that I would have taken it that way with him—I'd asked him to tell me what he wanted—but… I don't know if it was because he was _that_ aware of me and all my fucked up history that something like that had even came to mind, or if it was just the way he was, but it always felt like a silent conversation instead of something else.

The best thing—other than knowing he was gonna come any second—was the way he said my name. It was silly; it was just my name, nothing else, but the way he kept saying it, the tone and the deepness…or the way it would be all broken up between gasps and puffs of air, like he couldn't get my whole name out without something else in there, too. God. It really wasn't silly at all. With all the others quiet noises he was making, the thing that came out the most was _my_ name. My real name. Nothing fake and put on, nothing theatrical or dramatic. Everything he wanted—he asked for so little. So little always made him happy. And he sounded so content. The sighs were so content. Because of me. Not because of some fake hooker shit, but just because of what I was doing to him. _I'm happy with just you. I just want you._

And I don't know if it was just because I hadn't been as focused on just him the other times we'd done this or because the scent was so much stronger here, but he smelled so fucking good right now. It wasn't like I didn't think he smelled good all the time. I liked the smell of whatever aftershave he used; it wasn't overly strong or musky, but it was something that always mixed with the soap and shampoo he used, and was just something I started associating with him. When I breathed it in, it was really calming; like Tyler himself. Now though, I think the smell would remind me of this, and I'm not sure it would have the same calming effect. I didn't really give a shit; I think I kind of expected to want him all the time now, but it was just… Yeah.

He pressed his cheek into me, breathing out harshly. "Kiss me."

I moved over to his mouth, lapping at his tongue and we got maybe two actual kisses in there before he started coming. Then it was sort of open-mouthed; or his was, while he let out these low, throaty grunts they made me feel all tingly and kinda fucking proud at the same time. I could feel his body all tensed and his cock pulsing, his eyes squeezed shut. And I just got to watch it all happen, my fingers back to stroking behind his ear and down his neck, tracing his sideburn while keeping my mouth just near his, breathing in his grunts.

He _really_ liked all that shit with his neck—like we're talking major turn-on if his orgasm was any indication. The orgasm looked almost painful at the end, but he didn't seem to be complaining at all. I smirked and started kissing him again. Little kisses, barely pressing my lips to his as his body lost the tension and he opened his eyes to look at me.

He was all out of breath still. And he kind of look surprised, which just made me smirk more. "Fuck, Allison. Jesus."

"Well you should have told me that shit before. All your orgasms coulda been that good."

"Mmm." He smiled up at me, all lazy and fucked out. I sat up a little, scraping my nails lightly down his chest to his stomach.

His whole body seemed to shudder. "Fuck."

I giggled. "A little sensitive?"

"That was amazing."

"I'm really, really glad."

He breathed out a sigh and cocked his head on the pillow a little. "Did you come?"

I shook my head. "No, but that was for you. And I don't care. Because it was really amazing."

He smiled up at me for a second, his eyes sort of glassy and unreadable. I didn't know what he was thinking. "I wanna try something, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable with it."

I couldn't think of anything with him that I'd find uncomfortable.

"You wanna try it with me?"

I nodded, dropping to kiss him quickly, and moved off of him. I watched as he tied off the condom and grabbed another one, getting this one on himself, and then got back on the bed, staying on his side. I rolled back into him, shoving a leg between his and snuggled into him, back to kissing gently. I wondered if this was what he wanted to try and why that would make me uncomfortable, but that really didn't make any sense.

He pressed his forehead against mine. "If you're ok with it, I was gonna have you turn around."

Aha.

"So we'd be spooning, and I'd take you from behind," he added quietly.

The thought hadn't really occurred to me at all, and I don't know if I was surprised or not that the idea didn't really bother me at all. When I freaked out on him before, I really don't think the position had mattered that much. I mean, it has made a difference because I hadn't been able to see him, but I don't think at that point I would have been ready for him in any position.

"You can say no. I'm not going to be mad at you if you say no. It won't change anything. And it's not like this is something I'm asking you to do for me. It's more just something I wanted to do for you."

He got the wrong idea sometimes when I was thinking, or when I reacted to something that normal people thought was, well, normal. I suppose if I explained myself more, he'd understand more. "No. I'm not—I was just thinking that before I don't think it was really that you were behind me. I mean, that made a difference, but if I'd been looking at you, I don't think I would have been any more ready then. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, of course."

I kissed him quickly and turned over, backing up into him again. We slept this way sometimes, so it wasn't a new feeling anymore, either. I liked the way he felt pressed against me. The way that I felt small, because I always felt that much more protected in his arms. Probably something I wouldn't have ever felt before—years ago the fact that he was so much bigger would have made me feel uneasy.

My head was pillowed on his arm; the brace was hanging off the end of the bed, and his other hand curled around my stomach, holding me close, thumb stroking back and forth in a completely soothing manner. It was so quiet now. Much different than a few minutes ago when he was coming. It felt like the air in the room had changed. And when he pressed his mouth to my shoulder, inching his way to my neck, it had changed to something…calmer? I don't know if that was the right word really. It felt stiller—not less intense really, just…relaxed.

I got the impression he wanted to give me something back again. It didn't need to be given, but it was something I was finding I liked giving him, too.

His mouth was at my ear, voice like a whisper. "Is this ok? You sure you're ok with it this way?"

I nodded, craning back to look at him. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You're sure?"

I nodded again, reaching a hand back to touch his hip. "Yes. The head case is almost positive she won't freak on you like before."

I meant it to be funny, but I don't think he took it that way. Tiny kisses were peppered on my shoulder. "You're not a head case. You're amazing. I was an idiot that day. And you're about the least crazy person I know. I just don't want you to do something because you think I want you to. I want you to want it, too."

I thought for a minute about how to answer him—to make him believe me. "It's different now," I settled on.

For some reason, that seemed to be a decent enough answer for him. "Ok," he said in the same quiet tone.

He didn't waste time then. Maybe he didn't want to make me wait and have me change my mind. Or maybe he thought less time for me to think about it was better. It didn't matter though. It _was _different. I felt like everything had changed. I couldn't really find one thing to pin it on; or _why_ necessarily, but I just knew it was different.

His hand slowly slid down from my stomach, his mouth licking and nibbling on my shoulder and neck as gentle fingers rubbed over my clit and dipped into the wetness between my legs. I arched back into him, moaning as he concentrated on my clit, and I didn't know if I wanted to clench my thighs together to keep him there, or spread them apart more to let him inside.

I don't think my neck was as sensitive as his was; but it still felt pretty fucking amazing. Or maybe it was more what I was feeding off of him. Knowing the feelings he had to be having to be breathing in my ear like that, licking over my skin like that, pushing his hips into me like that. _That_ was almost more of a turn-on.

He moved a leg between mine, opening me for him, and asked, "You ready?"

"Yeah. Yeah." I nodded eagerly.

It was no secret; it wasn't like I hadn't been fucked in every position before, six ways to Sunday. And it was never slow and easy. So whenever he pushed inside me, really everything that he did gently, it was almost more shocking than anticipating a strong push in. The fast entries were like ripping a band-aid off; it was over quickly. When he did it so slowly, and with such deliberate care behind it, there was no way I couldn't feel every part of him. I loved it. I loved every second of it. And this push inside felt completely different. We never fucked this way before. He'd never been inside me this way…and oh my fucking God, did I like it. I thought all the other times were good—the way he kept finding new places inside me—this was like that times a hundred. It felt like when his fingers were inside me and rubbing my spot only this was stronger and better and more direct. No one ever fucked me like this; like they wanted it to be this good for me.

It felt like my entire body was burning. His fingers made it spiral up to my tits when he kneaded them and pinched my nipples. He made it spread over my stomach when his fingers fluttered there; and he made my body feel like it wanted to explode when he kept pushing at that spot and rubbed my clit at the same time. All I wanted to do was clench on him—tighten my pussy around him when he pushed in, and hold him there for a second before he pulled back for the next one. He liked when I did it, too, panting moans in my ear and nuzzling into my hair with his head. The hand with the brace kept flinching, like he wanted to be doing more with it, but the brace kept preventing it. When I started to come, I moved his hand away from my clit—it was the first time I think I ever had too much stimulation—and interlocked our fingers while I clamped on him, loving that I was pulling him along with me, his hips pressed as close as possible, our moans mixing together.

I couldn't imagine even what would have happened if he'd been able to do that the first time we tried it.

He pulled back enough to ease out of me, and rolled to get rid of the condom, and I burrowed backwards the second he moved back. He tightened his grip on me, just holding me. I really didn't know what there was to say. For some reason, I thought…just by the way he was holding me, and the way he kept nuzzling his forehead into my hair, his breath hot against my neck, that _he_ wanted to say something. But he just squeezed me then, and nuzzled some more, and I dunno, I didn't really want to talk yet. I wanted to thank him, to tell him how amazing this had been, and really—I wanted to tell him how much my whole life was different with him. How he'd changed _everything_, but I didn't really know where to start.

He cleared his throat quietly, kissing my neck. "You ok?"

Figured that'd be the first thing he'd say. Our fingers had gone back to being locked together over my hip, and I squeezed gently before bringing our hands up to kiss the back of his. Bruises had formed fully over his knuckles and I kissed those gently, too. "I'm great, Tyler. Better than great."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I could feel him nod behind me. He was quiet for a second and then added, "I should have gotten two boxes of condoms."

I burst out laughing, and flipped to giggle into his chest, before tipping my head up to kiss his jaw. "Maybe, yeah."

"I wonder if you can buy them in bulk…"

I looked up at him, smirking. "Thank you."

"For what?"

I scoffed. "Well, fuck, I dunno—maybe making my life good for once instead of the clusterfuck it's always been before?"

He scoffed back at me. "I didn't do that. You did that."

I pushed against his chest, moving to be eye level with him. "No. I got myself so far, but you changed it. And I don't mean that in like, some fucking Disney way. I mean…" Fuck. I'm really not sure what I meant. I hadn't really planned this out, and I hadn't really had an answer when I was thinking about it before. "You've just made everything different."

I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. "You've made everything different for me, too."

"I don't just mean that with the sex, either," I clarified.

"I know that."

My mind was sort of racing all over the place. I wanted to tell him so much, but I couldn't really find the words. I wanted to tell him about a lot of things. Admissions. Confessions. It felt like he was the only one it mattered to tell anyway. I'm not sure why this came out first. But I'm really not sorry it did. "I did something the other night that I've never done before."

"What's that?" he asked, tracing the hair behind my ear again.

"Fought them off."

The tracing slowed and then stopped as he met my eyes again. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you reach a certain point that you just kind of… It's a job, right? So whether you've totally agreed or not, it's sort of pointless to try and stop someone. It's easier and it's safer for you to just get it done."

He was quiet, but the tracing started up again. I was going to keep going, try to explain more what I meant, that hooking wasn't like a 24/7 rape-fest, but he asked, "Why was it different this time?"

I started tracing circles on his chest. "You." He stopped again, just resting his hand on my head. "I think I fought for you."

"Why didn't you fight for yourself?"

"I did this time. I mean, I think it was both. I didn't want it for me, but I didn't want it for you, either. I didn't want it taken away from either of us."

"I'm glad you fought. Whatever the reason."

I nodded. "I'm glad I did, too."

I snuggled into him more, rubbing my nose against his lightly. And we started kissing again, softly, slowly. I think we were done for the moment, but he didn't want to lose the closeness any more than I did. Except… I really had to pee. And I might have been squirming more than a little bit.

"You ok?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm great. I just… I…" Fuck it. "I really have to pee."

He laughed. "Well then go pee."

"Yeah, but we were being all cuddly and I like it."

He kept smiling at me, kissing me quickly. "You can still pee."

"I thought we were having, like, a moment—ya know? Making out and shit. I don't want to ruin the moment. I like having moments."

He laughed again. I think he was even more amused. "Jesus, go pee already, and then we can go back to making out and having moments." He pulled me closer for a second and kissed me harder. "The more you squirm, the more you're just gonna turn me on and then we're gonna have to have sex again, and I'm actually really kinda tired."

I burst out laughing back at him. "Ok. So I'm really helping you out then by leaving the bed right now?"

"You're allowing me to rest in the long run, yes. So go pee, and then when you come back we can make out and cuddle some more and have another moment before I pass out on you."

I giggled, slapping his hand away when he tried to pinch me. "You start that shit, and you won't be sleeping at all."

"I can't help it."

I threw my head back laughing my way to the bathroom.

"You've got a great ass. Have I ever told you that before?"

"You're going to make me blush," I threw back at him over my shoulder.

"God, you should be naked all the time," he added, groaning. "But then I'd never get anything else done. Which wouldn't really bother me."

I shut the door to that one, still happy and chuckling; and I think he was pretty much talking to himself at this point.

There was always this sort of unbelievable moment for me when I walk back into the bedroom like this. And he's sort of unaware of me coming back in, so he's even more unguarded than he would be normally. And I sort of want to fucking pinch myself because Tyler naked and all sacked out after sex on the bed… Well, there's not much else I could think of that would be better. And everything is mine. He's all mine. And doing nothing but spending time in bed with him wouldn't really bother me, either.

He never notices me standing there at first. And tonight, his eyebrows were scrunched while he fiddled with the brace and tested the movement in his hand. "Does it hurt now?" I asked quietly.

His head jerked in my direction, and he knew he was caught, there wasn't anything he could do about that now. He sighed a little, but the slightly guilty look he had a second ago was completely replaced with something else. He smirked. "I like when I get to watch you walk back to bed naked."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Uh huh." I smiled though. "Probably about as much as I like seeing you in bed naked."

"Is that a fact?" Mischief. Mischief dancing in his eyes completely.

I nodded. "It is." I waited for him to answer me, but he didn't so I asked again. "So? Does it hurt?" I pointed to his hand. He'd obviously push it off if I didn't ask again.

"A little, yeah."

"I'll get you a pill." I didn't wait for an argument, but there wasn't one. I brought him a glass of water from the bathroom and handed him one of the pills. "The numbness wore off finally I guess, huh?"

"Yeah, a while ago."

"You should have said something."

"I had more important things to do then."

"Mmm, like what?" I took the glass back and wasn't really watching, so I was happy it actually made it to the nightstand and didn't smash all over the floor.

He considered it a second. "Mmm, like…giving you orgasms. Shit like that."

"So selfless."

"Well, I mean, there was some giving back on your part. I can be a taker if necessary."

"You're supposed to keep it up," I said, moving his arm up over his head to rest on the pillow, leaning on his chest. "I'm glad you're so balanced. It's a very attractive quality."

"I try."

I pressed a kiss to his chin. "Does that feel better?"

"With you all pressed against me, I hadn't actually noticed."

"You trying to get laid again? Because in case you haven't noticed, I kinda like fucking you."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	35. Chapter 35

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

* * *

**TPOV**

Did you ever have something that you wanted to tell someone so badly that it basically consumes your every thought, or screams in the back of your head at all times? And no matter how much you want to just spit it out, you can't, because that someone either wouldn't take it well, doesn't really need to know, or it could prove too emotionally overwhelming.

Loving her wasn't anything new to me. I'd known that for a long time. But telling her—I'm literally biting my tongue at every juncture. Sex has only made it worse. Or it's made it even more difficult to try to control. Because what I felt before is just amplified a thousand times when I'm inside her. That makes it seem entirely physical, but that's not really what I mean. Sex _was_ an entirely physical thing for me for a long time. There was nothing remotely emotional tied to fucking the chick you picked up a bar and stumbled home with at 2am. And because I waited with Allison, when it finally happened now—I just… It's odd how much more intense everything feels now, how strongly I want to be with her—not just the sex, but everything that a relationship should have. Fucking hell, I sounded like such a pussy-whipped jackass.

And that's so odd to even think that someone like her—as strong and so…not at all the type to want someone to be falling at her feet—would elicit that from any guy, and me, specifically.

And I just don't even care. I don't care if it means I'm completely at her mercy. She doesn't even know it, even if it is true.

I'm not even sure what telling her would accomplish. It would still scream in my head the same way; it would still burn through me until it almost physically hurts. The only difference would be that I could say it every time I felt that way. But if I told her every time I wanted to, it would be, like, every five minutes, and that's just not practical. It would probably make me seem like an obsessed psycho. And the last thing I want to do it scare her. I don't want her to feel obligated to say it back to me, and I don't want her to think it's expressly tied to sex either.

But that didn't change the fact that I wanted to tell her literally every time I pushed inside her last night, and every time she clung to me and pulled me toward her, and every time we kissed, and every time she squeezed me, and watched me, and looked at me. Fuck.

It's right here in the morning, when I haven't moved because I don't want to wake her. I think we both basically passed out, and we were in the exact same spot we'd been in when we went to sleep. We slept spooning, and her skin was so warm against mine, soft and smooth. Her hair smelled like my shampoo and all I wanted to do was breathe her in. _I love you_.

The only thing slightly ruining my morning moment was the fact that my hand was trying to fucking throb a drumbeat solo right out of my arm. I mean, the doctor said that hand injuries like to throb. Boy, was he not fucking kidding. And how exactly do you keep your hand above your head while you're sleeping? The only feasible way to do that would be to be on your back, and as we don't always sleep that way, it just ain't happening. And spooning this way, my whole arm would have been over her head, half smothering her, and then how was I supposed to hold her, even if it was awkwardly with the brace? So yeah, not happening. And ow.

In fact, even though moving had not fully occurred, I don't think my body was very happy with me in general. Besides both hands not enjoying the punishment they received, my lungs sort of hated breathing—probably because my ribs were very, very pissed off. Deep breaths were not happening anytime soon. My head was pounding to the same rhythm beating through my hand, my face fucking hurt, and I felt achy basically all over. I didn't know what her plan was for the day, but I voted for staying right here, not moving, and taking mass quantities of pain killers. I wondered if either of us had to work. Because we were so calling in if that was the case.

She shifted a little, and I pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

"Mmm." She wiggled back into me, sighing. "Hey."

"Hi."

She yawned adorably, not fully awake yet. "Time s'it?"

"I have no idea."

She turned in my arms, hers going around my neck and nuzzled her nose against mine, kissing me. "You look like shit."

I smirked. "Thanks. I feel like shit, too."

"That's what happens when you get into fights," she threw back at me, all sing-song-y.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm a little sore."

"From last night, or…"

She smiled. "No. Well, that, too. But no, I meant muscles and bruises."

"You ok?'

"I'm fine." She brought one hand down to caress my cheek, rubbing her thumb gently over the cut on my cheek. "You ok?"

I shook my head shortly. "I think I'm dying."

"That's not good." She didn't sound all that concerned.

"I don't think you're taking my injuries seriously."

"Oh, no. I am taking them very seriously. I just think it's funny that you weren't dying last night."

"Well…" I had to think a minute. "I had numbness last night. And painkillers. I think they gave me painkillers in the hospital. And it's all set in now. You should feel sorry for me. I'm pretty pathetic."

She snickered. "Yeah, I feel real sorry for you."

"You need to work on your sincerity."

"You need to work on learning how to kick someone's ass if that's what you're trying to do. That's twice now that I've seen you get beat up when you're trying to beat someone else up."

"You're so lucky that I don't want to move right now."

She laughed and pulled back, moving entirely too quickly. That was so not fair. She pushed me to roll on my back, sighing heavily. "Lemme see how pathetic you are."

I groaned but rolled. Moving should be illegal. I raised my hand up on the pillow because seriously the throbbing was just—it needed to stop. I closed my eyes, but I could feel her hands moving lightly over my chest and ribs. I'm not sure what she thought she was going to find exactly, but I'd never turn down her touching me.

She clucked her tongue and I focused on her. "Sadly, I think mine were less…" she paused, looking at me, "um…violent?"

I scoffed.

"No, I mean, mine were defensive. He wasn't really trying to beat me up. He was just holding me down and there was less hitting—"

"I got it," I said, interrupting, holding up my other hand. I really didn't need to think about rehashing that in my mind.

She smirked. "It's actually kind of funny."

"I don't think it's funny," I said, but I was smirking back at her.

"Not that it happened to me. That you wound up more fucked up than I am, and you were trying to beat up the asshole that did it to me." She giggled, covering her mouth.

"It's not funny," I repeated, but I chuckled quickly.

She bit her lip, failing to hide her amusement.

"Ok, it's kind of funny."

That gave her permission to laugh fully again.

"Oh my God, stop. Laughing hurts."

She snorted. "I'm sorry."

"You should feel sorry for me." I nodded.

"I do. I feel sorry for your pathetic ass. I'll get you some pills and make you breakfast. What do you want?"

"Oh, fuck, pills would be wonderful. I want pills for breakfast."

"You want a side of bacon with that?"

"Do we have bacon?"

She giggled. "I think there's some bacon. I'll surprise you. Be pathetic there until I get back."

"Ok."

She bent down and kissed me quickly before grabbing my boxers and sweatshirt from the floor. That would never cease to be the sexiest thing ever.

She brought me pills, and bacon, and eggs to go with the bacon, and toast to go with the eggs. And then we ate it naked in bed. And I don't really know why, but I loved that she never really made two plates of food anymore. If we actually sat down at the table and had dinner, there were separate plates and shit, but if it was something like this, it was just all on one big plate.

She handed me a fork, and while the brace wasn't _completely_ debilitating, it did make literally _everything_ more difficult. And holding the fork was just awkward, and it felt weird. She was holding the plate, and didn't seem to find it odd that I hadn't just dug right in. "If we share a plate, can't we just share a fork, too?"

She was already chewing, her eyebrow going up. "Share how?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Just…" I attempted to show her how this whole eating thing was going to go with the brace—the motion of it—or lack thereof.

Her shoulders started shaking with laughter. "You are such a fucking dork. Are you asking me to feed you?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Just… Well…" I paused for a second. "Yeah, I'm pretty much asking you to feed me." I made the same hand motion again. "It's all clunky and I'm gonna get food all over myself. Eggs are going to be strewn all over the bed."

"Strewn?" Her mouth twisted into a smirk. She seemed to be considering it, even though she was looking at me like she thought I was only half serious. (I was _totally_ serious—but, ya know, feeding was hot, too). She nodded then. "Ok. I'll feed you this morning because your hand hurts and the pills haven't kicked in. But I'm not doing this shit the whole time you have that thing. You'll just have to figure out how to make it work."

"If we were at a table, I could totally make it work. I just can't really in bed. It's all awkward."

"Uh huh."

"I'm serious!"

"Right."

So she fed me breakfast. Which… Ok, _maybe_ it hadn't all been my hand. Because, ya know, we both got really into it. And taking toast and bacon from her mouth, we even managed eggs eventually, while kissing her and basically making out with food was just fucking awesome.

"You should shower," she announced after we were done eating.

"_I_ should shower?"

"Yeah. It'll probably help you feel less like dying. Help the pills to work better if you're muscles are looser."

"But… _I_ should shower?"

"Jesus, did you get completely helpless when you got all fucked up? I mean, what did you do before I was around? I already had to glue you back together the first time you got your ass handed to you. Who took care of you when you thought with your fist before and wound up like this?"

"Well, life was very sad until you came along, Allison, and fed me breakfast and shit like that, but I was actually more thinking that _we_ could fool around together if we were in the same shower. But if you don't want to fool around with me, that's ok." I shrugged, sniffing once. "I'll just go take a shower alone. If I can get up that is. And shuffle there. Maybe I'll jerk off since my girlfriend doesn't want to shower with me." I sighed dramatically. "Fuck, I can't even do that because I got my hand all fucked up beating up the asshole that hurt her." I brandished the brace in front of her face, making a dramatic effort at sitting up.

There was some eye-rolling, but she was smirking at me, too. "Oh. My. God. Is one of your classes that you don't really take in being pathetic? Laying it on pretty thick, don'tcha think?"

"Does that mean you're going to shower with me?"

She scooted closer, and I thought she was going to kiss me, but she stopped just short. "Well you can't jerk yourself off now, can you? I guess that means I have to."

I grinned. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Oh, you will, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

"Let's go then."

~ooOoo~

"What are you doing?" she asked, covering my hand as I was about to start on the Velcro on the brace.

"I'm taking it off."

"For what?"

"The doctor said I was supposed to take it off and move the fingers so they don't get really stiff."

"But you're supposed to do that today? You just got it on yesterday. I don't think you're supposed to take it off the day after you got it on, Tyler."

I shrugged. "I want it off anyway."

"No." She said, pulling the curtain and turning the water on, edging back toward me to let the water warm up first.

"No?"

"No," she repeated.

I wanted to tease her, but I could tell she was completely fucking serious. "Um… I can't take a shower with this brace on. It'll get wet."

She lifted one shoulder. "Then I guess you'll have to keep it out of the water."

"What, like, get a plastic bag and rubber band? Are you kidding me?"

She pointed up. "If I were you, I'd hang on tight."

I had enough time to look up and wonder what the fuck she was talking about before my cock was in her mouth, and less time to react before I almost completely drenched the brace anyway.

"Aww, fuck, Allison," came out in a mixed hiss and groan, and honestly, I had not been prepared for this at all. And keeping my arms up and holding onto the shower rod was a lot harder than one would think. Probably because she was completely relentless with the sucking. And the moaning around my cock. And the looking up at me. And the pulling off and reminding me, "Arms up, Tyler," every time I started to let them drop.

I think had she not totally blindsided me on occasions before, and pulled an orgasm from me with a blowjob in minutes, I'd probably be more embarrassed when I'm literally coming down her throat almost right after she starts. But when you're anticipating some light fooling around while washing, and wind up getting head, I mean… Who the fuck cares? God, she's amazing.

And I think she likes that she can affect me that much; and that quickly.

So she spent pretty much the rest of the shower making sure I didn't collapse after my knees were all weak, and washing both of us, while holding my arm up, too. She didn't complain because, hey, she'd been the one to put me in this state anyway.

"I… Thank you," I said, forcing what I really wanted to say down again. "You know you're amazing, right? And I appreciate you taking care of me. Everything. Even if I haven't said that recently." _Iloveyou._

She arched on her tiptoes to kiss me, pushing my arm up again. "You're welcome."

"I feel like I'm failing at taking care of you right now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm not the one that really had anything bad happen to them. I just wound up more physically fucked than you. I should be doing something else for you. Not worrying about this." I nodded to my arm.

"Tyler, there's nothing else you could be doing for me, ok? You did everything I needed you to the other night. And you keep doing it. I don't need anything else from you." She paused and then added, "And I kinda like taking care of you. I never really thought I'd feel that way, but I don't mind. And let's face it, I don't know how you made it this far alone really. You're a mess."

I nodded, kissing her repeatedly. "I am. I'm such a mess."

She smiled back at me. "Do you feel better?"

"Um, yeah," I answered, kind of as a question at the end.

"But?"

"I think it's just the heat and the orgasm and everything."

"And?"

I chuckled. "I'm actually really tired now."

She laughed. "Well, that's ok. You should rest anyway. So it'll be good that you're looser and everything. You can nap when we're done."

…and I pretty much did. Like, fell on the bed and went back to sleep for several hours kind of nap. Like, time for more pills kind of nap. But I felt even better after the extra sleep. Still achy and sore and annoyingly dull-pained, but better.

And not that I thought everything between us had to be some sort of quid pro quo, but, after the shower blowjob, all I could think about was tasting her. Logistically thinking, that would going to be somewhat challenging, because while I felt better, there was no way I was going to lying between her legs at the moment. So I'd have to be more creative than that.

I wasn't sure if she'd been there the whole time I was napping, but she was dozing with me when I woke up.

"Hey."

"Hi. How're you feeling?"

"Better. How about you?"

"I'm good." She squirmed against me. "Kinda horny."

I laughed. "That's good."

"I'm thinking that nonstop sex is probably not the way to go for the whole, ya know, recovery thing."

I thought about that for all of two seconds. "Yeah, but I really don't fucking care. Do you?"

"Mmm… no, not really."

"Maybe it'll enhance our healing abilities because we'll stay active or something."

She smiled at me. "Maybe."

"So, I really wanna go down on you, but I don't think my ribs are gonna let me lie on the bed like that."

"That's ok," she said, her fingers tracing my ear.

"No, I don't mean that's it; it's not happening. I just mean I thought of something else."

"Oh. Ok. What's that?"

"I want you to sit on my face."

The eyebrow went up. "What?"

"I can go down on you that way, and I don't have to be on my stomach."

"Or we could just 69-it," she suggested.

"No, you'll have more control if we do it this way instead. You can move wherever you want and you can move me wherever you want, too."

"Um, ok."

"Unless you don't want to. That's cool."

"No, I just… I've never really…"

No, I suppose she wouldn't have. Because who would have wanted to do that for her really? "Well, then it's just another thing we get to cross off the list."

"There's a list?"

"Of course there's a list. If we're going to find all of your favorites, I have to make sure we cover everything."

She nodded, smirking at me. "I see."

"It's fairly self-explanatory. You can either face me or not, and you just straddle my head so I can reach you."

She sort of just looked at me for a minute.

"So, come on." I made a wavy motion with my hand. "Climb on up."

She shook her head and kept smiling, but she started moving.

I scooted down a little bit, so we'd have more room. "Use the wall for balance."

I think she was slightly apprehensive. I didn't think it was a trust thing; I think it was something else. So I added, "You're not going to hurt me. And you won't really be sitting on me. I mean, you can, but you'll be moving and you'll be on your knees, so don't worry about it."

"I think I'm more worrying about you breathing."

I grinned, my fingers on her lower back as she crawled up me. "I can handle nothing but a face-full of your pussy for a while."

"Oh, Jesus, Tyler." She was getting wet; I could feel it skim across my chest as she moved.

"Come on." I pulled her forward again gently. "You'll be able to see me facing this way. So stop worrying. If I'm in some sort of distress, you'll be able to look at me and see it… if you're not otherwise writhing in orgasm. The faster you get up here, the faster I can make that happen."

"You're pretty confident."

"I am usually. For this, I'm really confident, yes. Do whatever you want, ok?"

She arched over me, her legs on either side of my head. Her hands were braced on the wall, and she was looking down at me. I braced her by grabbing her ass, and the minute she moaned at that and closed her eyes, I started lapping. And she lost the apprehension immediately, her hands slapping against the wall, and her legs tightening around my head.

In essence, there was nothing different about eating her this way than lying between her legs. At the same time, this was completely different because everything seemed heightened. The angle was different, the pressure was different, and the presence of her was completely overwhelming. All I could smell, all I could taste or touch, was her. The best part was that I wasn't even using my fingers on her at all. It was all my mouth. I lapped at her first, letting her get adjusted to it, because I knew eventually she'd take over. There was just something about being able to push my tongue in her this way and lick and suck at her lips; it was almost like it could be a little rougher because it was more reactionary this way.

She tasted so sweet; tangy, and there weren't really words that were accurate to get all the detail or definition. And I really don't think there could be much better a turn on than having her grind that all over your face. And everything was so fucking slippery; there was just no end to the wetness.

I pulled her forward again by her ass, and for some reason, that second time seemed to do it for her, and then she got really into it. And then pretty much all I had to do was keep my tongue flicking or resting where she wanted it, and she rubbed all over me for the rest.

The sounds she was making were so fucking intense; her grinding kept getting harder every time, rubbing her clit into me while one, and then both of her hands landed in my hair and started tugging. I think half of it was to have something to grip on that was more forgiving than a wall, and the other was to shift my head where she wanted while she covered the bottom half of my face in her wetness.

And when I started moaning into her, she just about tugged my hair out. And I couldn't have been more pleased when she did pull my head into her and grind down at the same time, and gave me nothing but her pussy for long enough that I was rather breathless when she let up. Pleased, and actually really fucking proud of her, too.

I seemed to have this sort of voracious need to have more of whatever she was giving, and she didn't seem to have a problem with me having it, either—I liked being greedy with her, always wanting more—no one else ever had, and it was amazing she seemed to share that same insatiable need. Maybe it was because it was all so new, but I didn't think that would ever change or there would be a point I wouldn't want her this way, or wouldn't want to make her feel this way.

She came rocking her hips into me, one hand on the wall, one hand yanking on my hair, head thrown back when I kept kneading her ass, and fucking loving the way she was literally shuddering all around me. I could feel her muscles contracting around my tongue, the way they were rippling through her body, and she actually almost jerked away from me when I scraped my teeth gently over her clit; like it'd been too much stimulation.

She was completely out of breath, all quivery and muscles fluttery when she backed up a bit, and I eased her back to sit on me. "Fucking Christ, Tyler," was all she said, and I couldn't stop smirking.

I didn't wipe her off either. At all. I think we kind of did the whole shower thing backwards. Or maybe not. Because still, all I could smell was her. And when I licked my lips, there was just the rich and heady taste of her, and I didn't want that to be washed off.

She sort of fell into me, but it was totally planned, because her mouth slammed against mine, her tongue plunging it's way in, and then it was just an even better mix of all of her wetness and the taste of her mouth, and fucking hell, I needed to be inside her.

She let me breathe long enough to mumble, "Mmm, need to fuck you." And then she was reaching for the condoms, and I think I sort of lost track of her getting it on me and her taking me inside, because I was still too preoccupied with her mouth. Good thing she was a multi-tasker.

I flipped us once I was inside, and it was a really good thing I'd proven that I actually possessed stamina, because lately she'd reduced me to a teenager with the way I was coming five seconds after we'd started. Funny, though, she followed me right after, so maybe it wasn't just me.

She was giggling after I'd collapsed on top of her, my head on her chest, feeling all boneless and sated. "What?"

"I _really_ liked that."

I chuckled into her chest. "Good. I'm glad. I did, too."

"People always talk about shit being erotic."

"Yeah…" I left it open ended because I didn't think she was done.

"That's what they mean. I totally know what they mean."

Heh. Hawkins for the win. "Is it now?"

"Yes. Yes. Completely fucking yes."

I pressed a kiss above her breast. "Why do you say that? Not that I'm arguing. Just curious."

"Just the way it looked. The way you looked under me. And your eyes."

I blew a breath out in a half laugh/half scoff. "I don't think you were looking at my eyes, Allison."

She tugged on my hair. "Just because you didn't see me looking…"

"How were my eyes erotic?"

She giggled. "Because you were _hungry_, Tyler."

I laughed back at her, squeezing her. "Well, yeah."

The tugging had moved onto her combing through my hair. I liked when she did that. It was like a combination between petting and caressing and alternated scraping her nails over my scalp. I kind of wanted to… I dunno… purr or something.

"It's nice to be wanted," she said quietly. "Wanted that way."

I knew what she meant. But God. Wanted wasn't even on the map anymore. Crave. Need. Yearn. Covet. Long for. I didn't know if those were in the realm of admission or not. Those were heavier things. Things like _I love you_. I settled for, "I always want you, Allison," instead.

She stopped what she was doing with my hair for a minute and just held onto me, pressing me closer. "I always want you, too."

I figured that was about as close to _I love you_ as we were going to get right now.

"Can I ask you a question?"

I rolled off of her, pulling her with me so she was resting against my chest instead. I grabbed a cigarette out of the pack on the nightstand and lit it quickly. "Of course." I loved how she just instantly curled into me.

"How come you only call me Allison?" Her head pulled up and she grabbed the cigarette from between my lips, taking a drag and propping herself up on my chest.

"What?"

"You only ever use my name."

"Um. What should I be calling you? 'Cause that is your name."

"No, I just mean, like, you never call me _honey_, or _sweetheart_, or any of that kind of shit. You called me _babe_ at the bowling alley," she said quietly, passing the cigarette back to me.

"Yeah, that kind of just slipped out."

"So you knew you said it?" she asked.

"Yeah, I knew I said it after it slipped out. I didn't say anything because I didn't know if you wanted that. And Caroline was there at the time."

"If I wanted to be called _babe_?"

"Yeah."

She stopped then, and I wasn't sure if that was because she was considering the thought of me actually calling her that, or if I'd somehow managed to offend her by either using it or not using it.

I blew out a breath of smoke, and tried to explain. "K, so here's my thing—I knew you were a stripper, and most likely are called every name that exists under the sun. And in that setting, I'm sure those terms, those names, are not exactly attractive at all. In fact, I'm sure they're really fucking skeevy and gross a lot of the time. So when we first started dating, I made an active effort not to call you anything but your name, because I thought that was more… I dunno, respectful? Or I just didn't want you to feel like you were a stripper because of what I was calling you. So I always try to be really conscious of what some term I use might mean to you in some other setting. Because the last thing I want to do is remind you of either bad things or unsavory parts of your job when you're with me."

And I didn't tell her this part, but I think I understood the value—to her—of just being Allison to me. Nothing else. Just herself. That's why she told me her real name in the first place. And that's why when I told her that all I needed for her to be was herself, it affected her so much. Because _just herself_ had never been enough for anyone before.

"I also think some terms are incredibly cheesy, lame, or disgusting, and I can't foresee ever using them in reference to you."

A laugh blew over my chest. "Like what?"

"Like _sugar, sweetie, angel, pumpkin, cupcake, darlin'_." She made a noise of disgust, so at least were in agreement on those. "Would you like me to use other terms?"

I could feel her squirm, I wasn't sure she wanted to answer that question, but she brought it up. "I dunno." I passed the cigarette back.

"I just never wanted you to feel uncomfortable or weird that I called you something. So I stuck to your name. But if you want me to call you something else, I can. I will happily call you something else."

"What would you call me?"

I'm not sure I'd really thought about it honestly. I'd been so conscious of not calling her something… "I think _baby_ would slip out a lot more if I let it. _Babe_ is something that would slip out in bowling alleys, or when I'd ask you a quick, vague question—like, do you want cream for your coffee, _babe_. That kind of thing."

She was quiet again for a few minutes, the ash from the cigarette close to dropping on my chest. "I think maybe I'd like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She nodded into my chest. "Do you have something you'd want me to call you?"

"You can call me anything you want."

"I'll try some out."

"Ok. Sounds like a plan." I dropped the cigarette into the can on the nightstand.

She picked her head up and leaned it on her hands over my chest. "Do you think about everything that same way?"

"What? Like thinking about why you might not want to be called something?"

"Yeah."

I blew out a breath. Yeah, I _totally_ did that. All the fucking time. "Analyzing every term excessively until I've ruled them all out or become so frustrated with the way pop culture has ruined all the decent terms and made them into something disgusting and uncivilized? And then look up the etymology of each word to determine what its original intent was so I can further be appalled at our entire world?"

"Yeah," she repeated.

"No," I deadpanned.

She laughed.

I smirked at her. "Kinda, yeah. I do that all the time. Is that bad?"

She shook her head slowly, the motion making her hair tickle my chest. "It's really, really thoughtful. Thank you."

"Of course." It was really great, and somewhat liberating, to be with someone that didn't think that was completely crazy. Or who actually appreciated it on occasion, and tolerated it the rest of the time as just a personality trait.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"No," I answered quickly. "You've reached your question quota for the day. Of course, feel free to expose some other completely embarrassing character flaw of mine in retaliation. Please take a number and come back tomorrow. I can only please one person per day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow isn't looking good either."

She pinched me. "I said it was thoughtful," she defended. "I didn't say it was a flaw."

"Right. What's your question?"

"Do you think that's one of your kinks?"

"Names?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, dummy, the face-sitting."

"Dummy is not a term of endearment." I pointed out.

"Oh, sorry. Fucking asshole—do you think that's one of your kinks?"

"Much better." In a lot of ways, I think I loved that everything was so new to her. Because there was no bullshit. If she had a question, she asked. And it was almost like she didn't have those hang-ups that most people did. The kind that prevented them from asking shit that might be construed as embarrassing. Or they didn't ask because of what people might think. There wasn't that filter with her. She wasn't really embarrassed to ask much anymore.

I considered her question for a second. "Um. Yeah, I guess. I think there's got to be some kind of definition though. Because when I say it's a kink, it's not necessarily kinky. Do you know what I mean? I wouldn't consider face-sitting to be kinky."

"No, I get it. More like at turn-on?" She half asked/answered.

"Yeah. Or just something I really enjoy." I thought a second again. "I dunno, because I mean, then everything would be a turn-on."

She giggled. "Meaning?"

"Well, I _really_ like everything with you. There's nothing that I'm like, _Oh, damn. Now I have to fuck her, or kiss her. Oh shit, she wants me to eat her out, and I really wanted to get a donut. Fuck._ So either I'm the kinkiest motherfucker of all, or there's a definite difference between things that just get you off, and things that people consider…weird, or whatever. So which are you referring to exactly? Because when you were talking fucked up shit, I would not consider this in the realm at all. Or did you mean things that I just really enjoy?"

"Both?"

"I mean, what do you consider kinky? I think all of this is sort of subjective. It's individual—one person might think something is kinky that someone else thinks is the least kinkiest thing ever."

"True."

"I mean are we going standard? Because I don't know what I even consider kinky necessarily. What's standard even?"

She shrugged. "Your guess is probably better than mine."

I could have done one of two things here. I could ignore the fact, for the moment, that she'd been a prostitute, and that statement was testament to her telling me that she'd seen a lot of really fucked up shit. And I could just set that aside here, and dodge around the fact that she'd made that statement. Or I could admit that it…not intrigued, that was not the right word at all, but…that there was a sense of morbid curiosity there.

Potentially, what she'd tell me—if she did at all—could be really disturbing and irreparably damaging. I didn't like thinking about her that way—in those types of situations where unimaginable things happened to this girl; because that's all she ever was, just a child, and there was this not-entirely-logical-but-intensely-strong sense of protectiveness that just overwhelmed me when thoughts of that did enter my mind. I couldn't do a fucking thing about her past. I couldn't protect her from anything in it. But that didn't mean I didn't want to try. And it wasn't ever happening again, so…could I deal with this or not? That was the main question here.

And would _not_ asking be worse? Like I was denying what she'd been? Or was it just really creepy for your boyfriend to ask about that? I mean, really, it was just sexual history. I wasn't asking for every fucking detail, and I'm sure I really didn't want it. Unless of course, she needed to talk about it, in which case I'd be the best listener ever, even if I wanted to jam things in my ears to make it stop. If it was just sexual history, then she could willfully ask me about mine, too. She could. She probably would. So… Fuck, I was thinking too much again.

"Tyler?"

"Sorry," I said, looking back at her again. "I was just doing that thing again—the thoughtful character flaw."

"What were you thinking about?"

I was going to make a joke here at first; something likened to kinky and devious things dancing in my brain. It certainly would have kept the mood light. I chose not to. "I'm not entirely sure it's appropriate to ask," I settled on.

She laughed anyway. "I don't think there's anything that's not appropriate with us. Didn't we just have that conversation?"

I smiled gently. "This might be. And I don't want it to make you feel obligated or uncomfortable."

She didn't seem to be either yet. "What is it?"

"You said my guess would be better than yours. That made me think you had…" God, all the words in the world, and how would I make this not completely fucking insulting? "Made me think you had a multitude of possibilities from…before." Before? Jesus Fucking Christ. If I could have face-palmed myself right then, I would have. That was by far the lamest and probably the most insulting sidestep to asking something directly. We never really minced words. I'm not sure why I did it now. Maybe because it was still new, and I wasn't sure how much she really wanted to share.

She was quiet for a second. And I couldn't read her face. It wasn't emotionless exactly.

"Don't answer it," I added quickly. "It's really none of my business, and it was shitty for me to ask. Let's talk about something else."

She pressed a kiss into my chest. "No, Tyler. It's ok. It's got to be normal for you to wonder. I'm not mad or anything."

"I don't want you to have to remember things that are shitty just because I asked."

"Well you know about that as well I do—doesn't matter what you do, some of them never go away. You can't spend your whole life running from them. And I'm not…ashamed of them or anything. I mean, it's not something that I just tell people, but that's because it's not something you just talk about with people. It's not looked at—people don't look at it like you do. Ya know?"

"No, I understand. But only if you want to."

She kept looking at me for a minute and then she smirked.

"What?"

"There was this one guy that was really into feet. I mean, there are a lot guys that are into feet, but this dude—full blown fetish. He brought his own shoes with him. And wore heels. Imagine this huge, overweight, middle-aged guy parading around the room in stilettos, dick just hanging there. And he wanted me to try on all these different shoes—like he was a salesman or something, and then he just liked to watch me walk in them. I don't think his eyes ever got past my calves honestly."

Ok. That was definitely not the worst I'd been expecting, and she probably knew that, and that's why she wasn't telling me _that_ in particular, but… I found myself laughing. "I think the image of that is quite disturbing. Him in the heels, that is. I'm not into feet," I said, shaking my head. "Your feet are nice, but I will not be wearing any stilettos. You in them I could get behind."

"Oh?"

I shrugged, smirking. "Sure, why not?"

"So…watching me walk in them, or fucking me in them?"

"Oh, I could definitely get into fucking you in them. I like watching you walk regardless."

She giggled and hid her face in my chest, but it just turned into an open-mouthed kiss and she scraped her teeth over one of my nipples, her fingers tickling my sides. "I do have a lot of shoes at work…"

"That's good to know." She was looking at me again. "Was it weird to have that kinda shit all the time?"

She shrugged. "Not everyone was weird. And even if it was, you just reach a point where nothing seems weird anymore. Nothing you say or ask would shock me."

I wasn't sure if she was telling me that just for reference, or if she thought I had something that I considered shocking to ask for, or ask of her, to do to her. Or maybe it was a way of telling me that she might have something that would have shocked me. Too much thinking again.

"Ok, so you bring up a good point here, too. A fetish is like the obsession of a kink. Would you agree with that? Like, the dude could have just liked feet, but when he started buying shoes to wear and everything revolves around feet, that's fetish territory."

"I agree with that."

"I don't think I have any fetishes," I admitted. "I don't think I've crossed over into that. Unless thinking is a fetish."

"It might be. Tyler and his crazy thinking fetish."

"Do you have any?" She wasn't an embarrassed person, so I didn't think she really have a problem telling me if she had some.

She didn't answer right away. It was sort of like she was flicking through scenarios in her head. "I don't know," she finally said, shaking her head. "I don't think I can know that right now."

"Well, if you want to test something out, you let me know."

Her hands had been resting on my sides, but they moved up to rest on my chest instead. "Thanks."

I didn't even want this to come out of my mouth, but it was there, and it was one of those things I think I just _had_ to know. "I really feel like an asshole asking this, but…did you ever get any pleasure out of any of the encounters you had? At all?"

"I mean…yeah. Some things felt good. There were guys that were gentler, or who wanted me to come. Some tried really hard. Some of the college guys tried really hard. And were nice. Some weren't. There wasn't really one type. They came to me for all different reasons. Some just wanted to talk. Some wanted something specific. A lot just wanted me to watch them jerk off, or watch me get off. Some were angrier, or obviously had something they were struggling with. Some needed someone to take their shit out on. Couldn't be rough with their wives. Some weren't nice at all. Some liked leaving marks. But it wasn't about that. It wasn't about me."

She was being deliberately vague for my benefit; I knew this. That was enough for now. "Did you have repeat customers?"

"Sure. If you stay in one place, and they're in the same place. Or businessmen that came through town. Some were really generous. I had guys rip me off, steal shit, stiff me on paying. Some wanted to forget that they were paying for it. That could get dangerous. Or if they thought you were dating. Never understood that one really. A lot were just boring. Faceless. The same."

"Were there things you didn't like?"

"Of course. But that wasn't really… That wasn't the job."

"Yeah, but I want to know what you didn't like." Because then I'd never, ever ask for it, on the off-chance that it was something I'd think about.

"I didn't like being tied up. Didn't really enjoy being submissive, but I didn't get off on being dominant, either."

I nodded. "Good to know."

"No, but see, it'd be different with you. I don't want you to do that. I want it to be the same way—if you want to try something, we'll try it. So just because I didn't like it with a john, doesn't mean I won't like it with you. So I don't want you to be afraid to ask for something. If I really don't want to do it, I'll tell you. And I expect the same thing from you."

When did this turn all around on me exactly? "Ok, deal." She'd put her head back down so she wasn't looking at me directly anymore, and…I dunno. I just wanted to make sure that the lack of eye contact wasn't because I asked her about something that really made her uncomfortable discussing with me. I shifted my hand to cup the back of her head, stroking over her hair. "Hey, I didn't ruin anything, did I?"

Her head turned up again quickly. "What do you mean? How would you ruin anything?"

I shrugged and raised both eyebrows at the same time. "Asking about your past."

Her face lost the confused look it had a second before, and I got the impression that if she could have shaken her head at me at that moment, she would have. "You didn't ruin anything, Tyler. I meant it—you can ask me anything you want. You have a right to know. And if I don't want to tell you, I'll give you a reason."

I liked knowing her history. It was like once she'd told me there was no more dodging topics or silences with looks. It made things easier, and she seemed much more willing to talk about it. Maybe the pressure of that secret being gone made all the difference.

She'd been watching me again while I stroked her hair. She was gonna ask me something again. I could see it.

"Can I ask you a question?"

I grinned widely. "Yes." I was pretty smug and happy with myself, too, that I knew she was going to ask. I wondered if this would be about my own sexual history. She had every right to ask about that, too.

"What happened in the ER?"

Nope. Not at all what I thought. "What do you mean? Like, with the doctor? You know all that."

"I mean with you and Jordan."

"Oh."

She shrugged awkwardly from her position. "You two seemed… I dunno, different."

"Do we?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. I guess, yeah."

"So…why? What happened?"

"Um… " What was safe here? "I guess we kind of just reached an understanding, or we understand each other better."

"How's that exactly?"

"Well…she apologized for wailing on me."

"That's good. She shouldn't have done that."

"No. But she… well…" How did I parse things so that I could actually tell her shit? I mean, like the entire love part of our conversation wasn't going to be in this one, so how did I really explain? Because I think telling Jordan that I loved Allison was sort of the turning point of the entire thing. And I wasn't sure that if mentioning that her apology for wailing on me had with it an explanation that included Jordan witnessing Allison bringing home an asshole that _had_ been the one to hurt her was a betrayal of confidence or not. "I think… I think just actually talking to me for once without all the bullshit… and I mean, our conversation was sort of an argument anyway, where only one of us talked at once, and the other just kind of took it in or seethed. Well, I seethed. She really didn't say a whole lot. Wouldn't tell me anything I asked about."

"What did you ask about?"

Shit. "I asked how you met. Who had hurt you before because she made a comment about that. She wouldn't tell me that, and she wouldn't tell me why you two moved to New York together. The only thing she told me was about herself and how you met."

She didn't really react to any of that. There'd been a flash at the end, but nothing that anyone else would have noticed. She didn't seem uncomfortable really, but I didn't really like the lack of reaction. It reminded me too much of the looks she used to give me when she wouldn't answer anything. "She didn't tell me anything," I assured her, "if you're worried about something. The stripper code holds true."

Her face softened. "I know she's trustworthy. I'm not worried about anything she told you. I'm not surprised she didn't really tell you anything either."

"She told me I should go fish in your pond instead."

She laughed. "Yeah."

"She's kinda brutal. But she cares about you. And she's kinda fierce about it. I respect that."

She sighed. "Kinda like someone else I might know."

"Who might that be?"

"Can't imagine." She pulled herself up to kiss me, lingering there until I kissed her again, chasing her mouth before she dropped down to my chest again. "What did she say about when we met?"

"She said you stole her shift."

She giggled into my chest. "That bitch! I did not! I so did not! I couldn't help that they scheduled me then! She's never going to let me hear the end of that one. What did she say about herself?"

"Just about her family, and that she'd wanted to move for a while before she'd met you." She nodded a few times, her chin digging into my chest. "Why did you move to New York with her?"

She blew out a breath over me. "That's a really long story. And not one for today. Ok?"

"Yeah, ok," I agreed. I pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, my thumb lingering over the bruise on her cheek. "Vegas was where someone hurt you, wasn't it?" I don't really know where that came from. It just seemed logical there.

"Not today," she repeated quietly, leaning into my hand.

That was pretty much confirmation. "I won't ever hurt you. You know that, right?"

She turned her head to press a kiss into my palm before leaning into it again. "I know."

"I told Jordan that, too. And that I didn't care about your past, or want to change you. Maybe that softened her up." I smiled. _Or, it could have been my admission of completely being in love with you. Yeah, or that. _"I think she was surprised I knew you'd been a hooker."

"She knew that was scary for me to tell you, yeah. I'm sure she was surprised that you knew. I didn't tell her that I told you. I haven't told her a lot of things lately." She smirked.

I smirked back. "Oh, and you know what? I reminded her that she was the first one that told you to date me. And I didn't get why she was such a bitch to me then, because she wouldn't have told you to date a complete prick."

"Right?"

"It was actually pretty funny. She never thought we'd stay together. She thought that I would just be good experience for you. She didn't think we'd last, or we weren't supposed to.

She said she was a jealous that I was decent and didn't want to see all the positive qualities I possess."

Allison shifted to sit up.

"What?" She looked pissed. "What did I say?"

"She said that to you?"

"Yeah..." I let the word come out as way more syllables than was necessary. "I thought it was funny."

"Why is that funny? That she basically just shoved me with a guy she thought wasn't going to be good for me anyway? Or like I was so fucked up that I'd fuck up any relationship I had, too?"

Um. Well. I think Jordan more looked at it like practice, but she was already pissed, and I'm not sure that would help really. "But…it's funny because I'm not bad for you. And you're not fucked up. And we are together. And happy. And yeah, really happy."

She smirked at me, but then it shifted back. "No, I'm actually really pissed off at her. It's like she just expected me to fail at it. Like I couldn't _possibly _make it work. Or what if you _had_ been a complete prick? Then what?"

In the interest of my new sort-of civil relationship with Jordan, I probably needed to intervene here. "Baby, she told me she was sorry, and she hadn't been fair. I think she realized it was stupid once we actually started dating. And I don't think she meant it that way. I think she just thought I would be practice for you or something. And it's ok. We're ok now. We got it all aired out."

She stopped immediately, a huge smile breaking out. "I love it."

"What?" So. Much. Confusion. We were jumping emotions all over here. I mean, _Yay!_, we were happy, but…what?

She landed back on my chest, her hands on my face. "You called me _baby_."

"Oh." I smiled, kissing her. "Yeah." She kissed me again. "I told you it would slip out more."

~ooOoo~

I don't really know why I'd admitted to Jordan that I loved Allison. It wasn't because I wanted to gain her approval or trust, or win her over. I really hadn't given a shit if she approved or not. And I wasn't concerned with being friends with her, either. It would have made things easier if she'd liked me, but it wasn't something my life hinged on. I would have been completely happy being a sarcastic asshole to her for the rest of my life. I really didn't even care if she understood. It wasn't like our conversation had started out any differently than most others did. She was all ballsy and brutal, and we just lobbed shit at each other until one of us let it go. I was too tired and cranky to keep it up long in an emergency room waiting room. I'd had enough bullshit for one day. But it just kind of slipped out. Maybe I'd just wanted to tell _someone. _Anyone. Someone living. Someone who'd have a reaction to it. Who it would make a difference to. Because she wasn't ready for it yet herself.

What was funny was that… I hadn't meant to fall in love with her, either. I can't say that the first night I met her I thought of having a relationship with her that was serious. She'd intrigued me. And it just snowballed from there. But it was amusing to think that Jordan and I had sort of come from the same place when it started and _I_ was the one that completely flew off the path and went and fell for her. I'm sure it was surprising to Jordan. But I think she understood finally that we wanted the same things for her.

So basically, we'd done a whole lot of nothing but sleep and fuck over the last week. I wasn't sure I wanted to meet her bosses or not, but they must have been really… Can the mob be decent? Apparently this branch could. Or maybe they just had a better understanding of the background of some of their girls. Whatever, I was happy they didn't give her shit about not working for a while. It wasn't like she didn't have a good reason. Getting attacked wasn't really a big motivator for getting up on a stage and flaunting yourself naked. I had half a mind to go down to the strip joint myself and have a chat with one of them, see if they couldn't make an unfortunate accident befall the landlord. But I didn't think Allison would enjoy that much. And I was also kinda scared that they might actually do it. Maybe Jordan had chatted with them already. It wasn't like I'd miss the fucker if they did do it. I'd just rather not have it on my conscience. Ah, who was I kidding, I'd nearly killed him myself.

I played to the sympathies of the 'I got mugged' card at the bookstore, and because I'd actually been quite the model employee, I wasn't known for blowing off shifts or calling in—usually just the opposite, I pick up shifts now and then when asked—they totally bought and it and wished me a speedy recovery.

Aidan kept his bitching to a minimum because he totally benefited from Allison's cooking, and had I been a more sympathetic person, I might have felt bad about the fact that he kept walking in on us fucking, but we'd had such a great week just spending time together than I couldn't be bothered to care about that either. It was probably the most relaxing week I'd had in a long time. She was incredibly easy to be relaxed with.

We made one trip to the doctor for him to tell me that he thought wearing the brace for a while longer was a good idea because he had to shift the bone, but I was seriously thinking about ditching it, or accidently setting it on fire in a freak lighter incident. Of course every time I made a comment to that end, Allison would give me one of those _looks_, and then it all fizzled away. And she'd give me all these reasons why that wasn't a good idea. Practical, reasonable shit, that she wasn't supposed to spout to me. She was supposed to be on my side—because it was impossible to do shit with it on. I couldn't pick shit up, couldn't write even in my normal, horrible excuse for penmanship. Or fuck. That was the worst.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to fuck when you can only balance on one hand? It's ridiculous. The amount of effort it took to fuck while balancing on your elbows was almost more tiring than it was worth. I mean, not really, but relatively speaking, in the realm of annoyance, it ranked really high.

At least it made us more creative than we might have been, or more than I might have been otherwise. It wasn't that I didn't want to fuck her in every imaginable, or even unimaginable way, but I never wanted her to feel degraded or—it just had to be on her terms. Regardless of what she said, regardless of things I might want to try or do to her, regardless of the conversations we had about it—I just… It had to be on her terms. I thought it was still too early for me to push things. I was happy with where we were. Progression would have to be when she wanted it.

I got some reprieve from the unyielding annoyance of the brace in the shower. The doctor had cleared me taking it off to move the joints, and that was about the only place Allison would allow it for longer periods of time, which just meant I made sure we took a ton of showers. And it seemed that summer had decided to unleash its fury, making the apartment the same temperature as a sauna, so the showers were nice for cooling off, too.

We'd slept until some amazingly late part of the day, and I'd ventured out of our cocoon for something to drink, leaving her sleeping. Aidan gave me his usual nod of acknowledgement, and grunted greeting, thick which jealousy or annoyance at my state of pretty much non-dress; I had the decency to throw on a pair of boxers before I foraged for something to drink. Allison basically living here meant the fridge was quite well stocked, and I opened the carton of chocolate milk and downed probably half of it in one go before I realized she was leaning against the wall watching me.

"Hey," I said, smiling, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and leaning against the sink.

I got no greeting in reply. Instead, "You're wearing shorts…" came out, and she sounded so… _offended_.

"Um…yeah?" I glanced over at Aidan, who was looking between the two of us, like he was missing something. It was actually two of us that were missing it right now.

She scoffed. "They're bothering me. Take them off."

I smirked, letting it grow to truly obnoxiously cocky proportions.

Aidan let out a noise of disgust, waving his arms. "Jesus Fucking Christ, don't do anything until I'm out of the room. Or the apartment. Better yet, the building, the city, and the state. There's so much fucking moaning going on in this apartment right now, I hear it during the day as an echo no matter where I go. I'm telling you, I can't stand it much longer." He started walking out of the apartment, still talking. "I mean, a guy can only take so much. I never wanted to know that much about either of you. And the cooking isn't _that_ good. It's so not worth it. I need to find a girlfriend. I just need to find a girl, not even a girlfriend at this point. As long as they have a pulse. Hell, at this point, I'd settle for a tree or something. Christ. If I start humping the furniture, it's your fucking fault!"

I really only caught half of what he was saying, because she was looking at me with the same knowing smirk. And hers was pretty fucking obnoxiously cocky, too.

I stayed where I was, leaning on the sink. "I'm sorry if my shorts are bothering you. I'd be happy to take them off."

"Good, yeah, they are."

I pointed down. "Would you like me to do that now?"

"Well I was planning on taking a shower. So if you plan to be in there with me, yeah, I'd do that now."

"I didn't realize shorts were so offensive."

"You have no idea."

I pushed off of the sink, and I'm almost positive the milk made it back into the fridge, but I really didn't care. "Truthfully, it was for Aidan's benefit. I wouldn't have made the offensive error if he wouldn't have been here."

She gestured to the door. "Well, he left. What's the hold up?"

I pointed to her as I moved closer. "I could argue the same thing about your attire…but as it's my T-shirt, and I find that ridiculously sexy, I'm willing to let it slide."

She pushed off of the wall and stood in front of me for a second, and then just raised her arms. I just… how can something so incredibly simple be the sexiest fucking thing ever? I'm not sure why, but the fact that it was huge, and the stark, white NYU over the purple background moved up with the motion of her arms was almost more than I could handle. If I hadn't already been half hard from her just looking at me, the completely laid-back and uncomplicated way she just waited for me to take the shirt off of her would have done the trick.

The shirt was long enough to cover well past her waist, but as I grabbed the bottom and peeled it slowly over her head, there was nothing else under it. There was something excitingly dangerous about that, too. It wasn't new over the past week, but just the idea that she walked around that way… When did I get so fucking lucky?

The better question might have been: why weren't we in the fucking shower already?

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	36. Chapter 36

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

* * *

**APOV**

I had a lot of new levels of happy since I met Tyler. And this was exactly the same. I couldn't remember ever being this happy. Happy with nothing attached to it. No hidden intentions. I always wanted to be with him. This feeling never stopped. Which is probably why we really hadn't stopped fucking since we started last week. In fact, we sort of didn't really leave the apartment except for his doctor appointment and several condom runs. I sent him out a few nights ago at something like 3am because we lost track of how many we used, and it was necessary that we fuck again. He barely got the box open before I was all over him. I don't think we even made it to the bed.

I suppose that was sort of… I don't even know what word to call it—cliché?—that a former hooker would become some sex-starved nymphomaniac. But it was different with Tyler. Always. I said that about a million times, but there was just nothing else that made any sense. Different was all I had. I never wanted someone like that before.

I wasn't sure how I'd adjust when we actually had to go back to work and shit.

I liked the way he reacted to me when I basically wasn't even really trying. Made me wonder what would happen if I actually tried. I think I sort of really evilly enjoyed torturing Aidan, too. I wasn't sure why. Maybe because he was the only other one that really knew what we were doing. I thought about calling Jordan, but that seemed like a better conversation to have in person.

We seemed to end up in the shower a lot. One was because it was fucking hot in the apartment, and it was one of the only ways to cool off, but I think because I let him take the brace off, he tried to steer us there more than usual. I had no complaints; the water in his shower was always the temperature you wanted it, and since we spent a lot of time fucking, cooler showers were just amazingly refreshing. It wasn't like we even spent every shower fucking around. It was nice to just be there with him. He never seemed to get tired of it either, just washing or touching—his hands were always so gentle, and I'd never felt… I didn't know what to call what I felt with him.

I liked the balance of that feeling with the part that just _wanted_ him all the time. Whether it came together or not, it just always seemed like both were there.

I woke up to find him gone, and that was just unacceptable. It didn't matter that he just went out into the kitchen—I wanted him again. And I'd been forced to actually get halfway dressed. He was hard before I even lost the T-shirt I threw on. And once he took it off of me, the way he looked at me—this shower wasn't going to be just washing and touching.

I knew the brace annoyed him, but he'd actually gotten really good with using one hand to do shit. So I only made a quick, short noise that meant both _Are you sure?_ and _Should you be doing that?_ when he picked me up. He made sure I knew he was only holding me up with his good hand, and then I was hooking my legs around his waist, while shoving his boxers down, and too lost in his mouth to really worry about it.

I didn't actually even realize we were in the shower until he set me down and lukewarm water was hitting my back.

I'm not sure either of us really… It just sort of went that way. He turned us, and pressed me up against the shower wall, I was half-climbing him already, my hands in his hair, our mouths never separating. He somehow managed to get the brace off without me noticing, bare fingers of both hands kneading my ass, pulling me into him. He was hard between us, and watching me all half-lidded and heavy-breathing, and my arms were already dropping to hold onto his neck, and I just sort of nodded at him a little in agreement, and he hitched me up higher on the wall, my legs wrapped around him again, and he pushed inside me.

I had guys in me before without a condom. Fuck, I had Tyler in me before without one, but we were both different people then, and things had changed with us now. Some of the other times weren't necessarily my decision. And really, I hadn't thought that much about it with Tyler. Condoms were just part of the routine. They were a necessary part of sex. But I didn't want to stop this and have him run off to the bedroom to get one, either. And feeling him this way—it was instantly hotter, and wetter than sex with a condom—like I could feel so much more of him. I don't think it was really all a physical thing, either—it wasn't that there was that much difference with the actual sensations, but I _knew_ he was inside me without it, and it just made what already always felt to me like the closest and most intimate experience I had skyrocket up even farther. It felt like I was feeling him as close as possible in every possible way. And he still did it in his normal, tender way. Physical or not, it felt better. I didn't think it was possible to be better. And maybe it was just because there was no barrier, but he felt more…_mine_. I hadn't ever had a lot of anything that I could have claimed was mine. But every time we did this, he felt like he was mine.

I loved it. And by the sounds of it; the way he was moaning against my neck while he thrust, he thought so, too—I felt more _his _the same way he felt more like he was mine. I never loved a shower more. The way I could arch against the wall and him, and feel him deeper, and that there was no barrier while he was doing it. Just that alone made me shudder. I think half the build-up of the orgasm that was coming was just thinking about it.

We were skirting dangerous lines here, and with anyone else, I would have been _much_ more careful. I wouldn't have even considered the idea of it. But there was nothing about this that felt uncomfortable or wrong or unnatural.

I'm not sure if it was just the idea of what we were doing, the adrenaline and the danger, or if it was the frantic way we ended up in the shower, all horny and hurried, but it felt like the meaning was different because even here, he was so gentle, and deliberate and aware of everything about me. The orgasm kinda just overwhelmed me completely. And it was a good thing he had the wall, because I basically just tightened around him and did nothing to help him keep me up, my body shaking.

He stopped thrusting while I came, and from the way his forehead was digging into my neck while he panted there, I knew he was close. "Fuck. You want me to pull out?"

I'm not sure it was really a question. I think we both knew what the answer was. But my first reaction? I didn't. Not at all. But he should. He really should. I think it took me longer to answer than I thought it did. "Fuck. Yeah. Pull out."

He was still holding me up, and I started scrambling down in a really wobbly way, because I wasn't completely sure my legs were going to want to stay upright. But he needed to come, and he had no hands left to help with that if he was holding me. It only took a few strokes and his cock was pulsing in my hand, his good hand landing above my shoulder so he didn't buckle into me.

And watching him come—it felt…incomplete. Which was completely ridiculous. He finished inside me with a condom countless times in the last week, and had come a bunch of different ways when we were fooling around. None of those felt incomplete. But fuck if it didn't now. And I wondered instantly if he felt the same way. It wasn't that it made everything else bad. It just… This one felt incomplete.

I don't think either one of us moved for quite a while. I just leaned into him, my head on his chest, and he leaned into me, and I think we were basically all that was holding each other up. I really liked that. I wrapped my arms around his waist and his hand was resting on my lower back, and this was one of things I really loved. That we could just be together. I loved everything about it with him.

He sighed quietly, and I pulled back to look at him. His eyes were warm, and he had a tiny smile on his face. I arched on my toes and kissed him.

When I dropped back down, he sighed again, less quietly, and ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry."

Say what? "The _fuck_ are you sorry for?"

"That was probably really stupid." He shook his head. "It was really stupid. No probably. I'm sorry."

Ah. Yeah, he didn't need to apologize. "I'm not fucking sorry," I said with a kind of put-off chuckle. "It was amazing."

"I'm not saying it wasn't." He smiled for a second but shook his head again. "It was really irresponsible."

I snorted. "Well it was both of us. It's not like I didn't want it."

"Yeah, but I didn't wanna pull out. And that's really, really dangerous. And stupid."

The idea again of him not pulling out pretty much almost sent me into another orgasm right there. It was the only experience that I hadn't had yet. And I wanted that, too. I cupped his cheek. "I didn't want you to pull out either."

I'm not sure that was the reaction he was expecting. It took him a minute, but he just kept going back to the head shaking. "It was still stupid. I don't want to be stupid with you." He turned the water off and pulled the shower curtain back. He seemed angry, or frustrated. And I knew he was mad at himself.

"So what are you telling me? You've been stupid before?"

He handed me a towel. "I've been lucky before. Stupid and lucky. And thankfully, not often. I mean, I was with you before. I don't want to do that to you again."

I furrowed my brow at him. "I'm not judging you." I waved my hand at myself. "Hooker."

"That's not—That night in the alley—I didn't know you at all, and you didn't know me, and I was a total asshole. I didn't think at all, or I thought with my dick, and that could have been really bad for both of us. I should have stopped and asked a lot of questions, and been upfront myself, too."

"That's not us anymore. You're not that guy anymore."

He sighed. "I know, but it pisses me off that I was then. I should have told you then that I'd been tested and I was clean. Way before I just assumed you wanted me to randomly stick my dick in you."

I couldn't help it. I laughed at him. Because it was just so like him to be pissed about something from forever ago that really didn't matter anymore. His face lightened a little at my laughing.

"Well, I mean, we didn't really do things in a normal—what does it even matter? It doesn't matter anymore. I didn't ask either. I let you just randomly stick your dick in me. And now I really like it. So it's good. We're good."

I moved over and put the towel I had around both of us, trapping his arms. He didn't make any move to get them free. He sighed quietly. "It was still just wrong. I should have told you that when I apologized the first time."

"Stop it," I said gently. "I didn't tell you anything either. I'm the one with the really fucked up sexual history. If anyone was at risk, it was probably more you than me. We weren't _us _then. And it's sort of fitting that you'd turn out to be the nice guy. Because in my experience, usually the ones that came on nice were the worst scumbags in the world."

He chuckled. "That's sort of backwards and fucked up. But who the fuck gets to say what's normal anyway?"

"Exactly. So stop being pissed about it."

He nodded slowly.

I nodded back, in that 'this shit is now closed' manner. "You hungry?"

"Sure."

I smirked. I don't think he ever actually said no when I asked that question. "What do you feel like?"

"Surprise me," he said, turning us and kissing me quickly. He stopped when he got to the doorway of the bedroom. "Am I allowed to put shorts on now, or is that still illegal?" He pointed to me. "If you're going to be cooking naked, I'm already telling you that it's still illegal. Because we might not make it to eating."

I chuckled. "I think I can manage to keep myself under control for the time it takes to cook."

"We can order in, too, if you don't want to cook. You don't have to cook. It'd be really fucking hot to cook."

"I don't mind cooking. Or I'll find something easy."

"K. I'm going to park my ass on the couch then. You wanna watch a movie?"

"Sure."

"What kind?"

I smirked when I turned to go to the kitchen. "Surprise me." I kissed him quickly when I passed him. "Don't forget the brace."

"Ugh. Damn."

"Silly boy. Like I'd forget."

~ooOoo~

So, I copped out with the whole _cooking_ part of food, and decided just to make sandwiches. It was too fucking hot in the apartment to use the oven, and I didn't feel like waiting for the stove either. It wasn't liked he'd complain. I started some bacon in the microwave and started slicing a tomato. And sort of couldn't stop thinking about him inside me. And coming inside me. And how much I wanted that. And how it would feel. And I was so busy thinking and imagining it, that I wasn't paying attention to the knife and sliced my finger.

"Fuck!" I dropped the knife on the counter.

"You ok?" Tyler was right there, looking over my shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I pushed him back and ran it under the faucet.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, really. I just spaced out."

He grabbed my hand, inspecting my finger. I looked up at him, and couldn't help but smile because he was all worried, and had literally come running in here. My knight in boxers and a ratty T-shirt.

His eyes cut to me, noticing my smile. "This is serious. It might need superglue."

I blew out a laugh.

He smiled back. "Seriously. This looks bad. We definitely need to disinfect it."

I tried to pull my hand back, but he held onto it. "Stop teasing me, or I'll bleed all over your sandwich."

He pulled my hand up, and before I knew what the fuck he was going to do, my finger was in his mouth. His tongue slid gently along the cut, and his cheeks hollowed, sucking on my finger. This was not at all helpful for my train of thought. And I sort of just stood there, letting him suck on my finger, while he smirked around it in his mouth. Because… I dunno exactly why, but it was incredibly sexy. Maybe it was the level of trust or just the idea that he had no qualms about sucking blood off of my finger. I don't even know anymore.

He pulled off, and I had to resist the urge to climb all over him again. "C'mon. Let's get you a Band-Aid."

And then he led me back to the bathroom where he did just that—it was sort of unreal. I wondered if that's how he felt the first day I came to his apartment and glued his head. And he had the best hands. Soft and always gentle, and I just wanted to sigh at him all the time.

I managed to finish the rest of the sandwiches without more injury, and I handed him his plate and plopped down next to him while he started the movie. I don't even know what fucking movie it was. I took a bite and chewed without really tasting the damn sandwich.

"What else is on here?"

It took me a second to realize he was talking about the sandwich. And then another before I figured out what the fuck I put on there that was different. "It's a BALT."

"A what?"

"It's avocado. Bacon, avocado, lettuce and tomato."

"Avocado?" He smiled, amused.

"Yes, avocado."

"An interesting choice. It's good. I wouldn't think it would be, but it's good. And I don't normally even like tomatoes."

"It was big in Vegas. I started jokingly calling them BALTs and it sort of just stuck. I never had one before I got to Vegas."

"It's good."

I nodded, distracted. "Yeah. K," I said, setting my plate down. "I'm having a really hard time concentrating on anything."

"Why?"

"Like I don't even know what this fucking movie is about. And it's why I cut my finger."

"Ok. What's up?"

"Because I can't stop thinking about you inside me."

He swallowed quickly and dropped the sandwich to the plate, and chucked the plate next to mine on the coffee table. "Ok, good. It's not just me then. I dunno what the fuck this movie is about either. But I'm also a guy, so…I pretty much think about that all the time, 24/7."

I laughed, leaning into him. He put his arm around me. "I liked it."

He nodded. "Me, too."

"I want it again."

"I'd like that, too."

"And I don't want you to have to pull out next time."

He let out a breath. "Ok."

"Is that ok? I mean, do you want that, too?"

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Yeah, of course it is."

I nuzzled into his chest more. He hadn't really specified what he answered there. I dunno. I was so fucking caught up in this idea, I just had to make sure he really wanted it, too. I mean, I didn't think most guys would turn that down, but I just… Fuck. I started playing with a little hole in his T-shirt. "Did you want to pull out?"

"No," he said quietly, his hand rubbing up and down my arm.

Ok. No was good. "So I'm thinking there's a free clinic near my apartment on 33rd. I know they give free birth control to some of the girls at the club, or it's really cheap." I started chewing on my lip. "What would you think about that?"

"No, I mean, that's great. As long as you're comfortable with that."

I pulled back. "Yeah, I'm comfortable with that. I want it. But I don't want it if you don't."

He pulled me closer and kissed me gently, pressing his forehead into mine. "I'm not trying to be vague. I just don't want you to want something because you think _I_ want it. That's not what this is, right?"

"No. I know I want it. You felt incredible."

"Pffft, I can't even. There's nothing I can even compare it to."

"What did it feel like to you? How was it different?" I hadn't really planned on asking him that, really, but it just sort of came out.

I liked that there was no hesitation; he just started answering. "I mean, sex is always good, no matter if there's a condom or not, but when there isn't one, it's just…everything is more. It's sort of like the condom just dulls things slightly. Feeling-wise, you're so much warmer. And it's wetter."

"Yeah, that was my—that's what felt the most different for me, too."

"Yeah. I don't buy shitty condoms, so it's not that feeling is much different, but it's just different. And it's mental, too, I think."

I smiled. "It's totally mental. Just knowing."

"I kinda feel like my chest is going to explode actually."

"What? Why?"

"Just the idea is sort of…" he waved his hand for a second and ran it through his hair. "Overwhelming my mind at the moment. Or I dunno. That you want it. That you want that with me. It's incredibly—like the ultimate thing you can offer, you know. I'm just—there's nothing closer than that. Nothing else you can share. And you know, I'm not sure I'm—" he stopped and took a deep breath. "We can go tomorrow if you want. You can call and make an appointment and we can go tomorrow."

I'm not sure exactly where he was going with that last part, but I got the feeling he was going to say something like worthy—while then blurting that he was going with me in the next breath. I mean, what more was there exactly that I could ask for? "You're gonna come with me?"

"Of course I'll go with you. Why wouldn't I go with you?"

I let out a sigh, and fell back into his chest.

"You wanna call and make an appointment, or you want me to?"

Aww. I mean, really? "You'd call and make an appointment for me?"

He shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Do you have a phone book?"

He got up wordlessly and rummaged in a kitchen drawer for a second before bringing it back to me. I found the number and waited for him to start talking. I could tell he got a recorder. "They're only open Monday—Wednesday."

Well fuck. It was Thursday. I wasn't waiting until fucking Monday. "Are they suggesting other places?" I asked.

He nodded. "There's a Planned Parenthood on Bleecker Street. That's, like, ten blocks from here."

I nodded. "Call there." I shifted and sat sideways on the couch, putting my legs over his. His free hand just landed on my calf like it was meant to be there, and I loved the level of comfortableness that I felt.

He nodded to the coffee table. "Hand me that pen." He made this rather adorable, frustrated growling noise when he tried to write the number down. The brace didn't exactly make writing easy. "Is that ok, or do you want to wait for the other place to be open?"

I shook my head. "I don't want to wait until they're open again. Call the other place."

I was sort of impressed when he started talking. It was probably way better than anything I could have said. I mean, I wasn't really surprised, but he sounded very…responsible.

"Hi. I need to make an appointment for my girlfriend and me to come in and discuss birth control options. Would you have any openings tomorrow? No, time doesn't matter. Whatever you have open is fine. Yeah. Ok."

I looked at him with my eyebrows raised in question.

"She's transferring me to the appointment scheduler."

"Score."

"Yeah," he said into the phone. "Ok. Go ahead. Allison Clark. 487 9th Ave." He looked at me. "I dunno the zip."

I smiled. "10018."

"Tyler Hawkins. 539 E 9th St. 10009. Yeah, I do. She doesn't. Ok."

It was odd to hear only half of the conversation. It wasn't like I didn't think he knew the answers, but it was weird having someone else answer for me. I never had anyone actually know that much about me that they could answer. He wrote something else down and scribbled, irritated like the pen was the problem.

"Yeah, we've both been tested." His eyes cut to me. "How long ago?"

"Probably two years ago."

"Mine was probably that long ago, too." He paused to listen to her. "Yeah, ok." He listened some more. He moved the phone away from his mouth, his head moving back to rest on the couch. "Jesus Christ." He sighed. "Now she wants to know when your last pelvic exam was—I fucking examined it myself last night and it was fine," he said, totally loud enough that I'm sure she heard it.

"Fine?" I asked. "It was _fine_?"

He rolled his eyes at me and smirked. "I mean healthy. It was very healthy. Healthy-fine. It's also the most amazing pussy in the world. Is that better?" I giggled. I'm sure she heard that, too.

_Mr. Hawkins!?_ I heard from the phone and he grinned some more at me. "Yes?" The rest sounded like that teacher on the Snoopy show. I couldn't make out what she was saying to him. He nodded toward me. "When was your last pelvic exam?"

I suppose it said something about how adult and real our relationship was that he actually managed to ask me that with a completely straight face. "Same—it's been two years."

He relayed the information, and wrote something else down. "Ok. Yeah, it doesn't matter. Whatever it takes."

I smirked. I didn't know exactly what he was talking to them about, but he sort of sounded like what he described his father like there. Of course, I didn't tell him that. "Ok, thanks." He hung up and tossed the phone on the table.

"So?"

"We can go in at 1:00. They recommend retesting for STDs yearly, and the same for a gynecological exam, especially because it's been a few years since you've had one."

"Greaaaaaat."

He smiled gently. "But they can do it all tomorrow. Test both of us, exam for you, and then talk about the types of birth control that are available. If you don't want the exam, we can just tell them that tomorrow."

I sighed. "No, I mean, we're being all responsible and shit. I suppose that's not a bad idea."

"Right."

"How much does it cost?"

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Don't worry about that."

"Tyler."

"Mine they'll run through insurance. If you bring a check stub, they have a sliding scale for how much services cost. But it doesn't matter because I'm paying for it anyway. We're both supposed to bring ID for age verification."

"I don't want you to pay for all of it."

"Well, that's too bad. Because I am. Because…if you hadn't met me, you wouldn't have the expense. There."

"Yeah, that was a great argument, honey."

He smiled. "Ok, I'm paying because you just called me honey, and I liked it." He moved over, leaning into me on the couch. "And you now have to endure a pelvic exam, too, and it's not even the super fun kind where you have an orgasm."

I laughed, pulling him down to my mouth. "You're worth it. And the payoff is totally fucking worth it."

He nodded, pulling back just at the last minute before we were going to kiss. "It better be a chick. If they give you a guy, I'm protesting."

"Ok, honey." I pulled him the rest of the way, shoving my tongue in his mouth.

He moaned into my mouth. "Mmm, I think I better just check that at least one more time before we go. My own check. I want to be thorough. In case they ask my opinion or something. For authentication purposes."

And then he was moving down my body, shoving the T-shirt up so he could kiss and lick his way down my body. He didn't linger anywhere, just made a straight shot down, and hooked his fingers in the waistband of the boxers I similarly threw on before making our sandwiches. I spread my legs for him as he breathed over my mound, his thumbs tracing down my pussy lips before he parted me and went straight to sucking on my clit.

I arched up into his mouth immediately, my hands landing in his hair. "Shit, Tyler."

He moaned into my clit. "Mmm—looks good so far."

"Oh, God."

His fingers pushed in, curling up while he lapped at my clit. "Feels good, too."

He kept pressing. "I think _this_ spot might need to be further examined."

"Oh, Jesus."

"It's hot when you pray."

I laughed, but it somehow managed to come out completely in a moan because his fingers were _exactly_ where I needed them, his mouth keeping my clit throbbing.

"Fuck."

"Tell me."

I tugged on his hair. "God, it's good. So good." He better not expect me be to be at all reasonable.

His mouth was making the dirtiest wet sounds against me. I loved that he never pulled back with me. No matter how gentle he was, he never backed off. "Mmm, what else?"

"Burning. It's like burning when your finger—right there."

"Hmmm."

"Jesus, fuck."

"Jesus might not like that. Burning might be a sign of something serious."

I giggled, but he managed to make it a long, breathy moan again because of his fucking mouth.

"Still burning?"

"Yes," I answered; the 's' becoming one really long syllable.

"Oh, come _on_! On the _couch_? I _sit_ on that couch!"

Tyler's head jerked to the direction of the sound, but I knew it was Aidan. And as I was a little occupied, I didn't really care. "Keep moving, Aidan," Tyler said back to him, but his tone was low, and kinda dangerous sounding. It was really fucking sexy. "Or turn around and fuck off."

And I kind of _loved_ that he never moved his hands away from me, and pretty much said that to Aidan while he was still between my legs.

Aidan grumbled, but kept walking in the direction of his bed. "You guys are so fucking… I hate you guys. And you're a horrible roommate, Tyler."

He chuckled from between my legs, his eyes all amused and wicked; and so fucking _blue_ in this light. God. And then he just picked right up where he left off. "Still burning?"

"Fuck, yeah."

"You're close, aren't you?" He didn't really ask that as a question. He knew me too well.

I nodded, feeling entirely breathless and kind of wild. I dunno why, it was just a fucking couch. It wasn't like it was the oddest place in the world to have oral. It was so common, but for some reason, it felt really out of control. Maybe it was just the anticipation of what tomorrow would bring. What it would mean.

He nodded back to me, not expecting an actual verbal answer, and just kept everything up, his breathing fast, and he seemed as wired and hyper as I felt. And completely covered his face in me, his mouth slightly rougher when I was right on the edge. His fingers never moved until I was done clenching around them, my legs shuddering while his tongue licked me gently through the orgasm.

He was grinning at me from between my legs when I looked down at him. "Exam complete."

I chuckled. "Dork. C'mere." I gestured for him to move back up.

He groaned. "I think my ribs are saying no to anymore of this position at the moment."

"Aww," I said, sitting up. "Then we'll have to switch positions."

"Nah. I just wanted an excuse to taste you."

~ooOoo~

We were eating breakfast when Aidan shuffled into the kitchen. His "room" always amused me, because it was basically like what a college loft looked like. It wasn't strictly a room at all, and if he ever had a girl over, she would have been screwing in a lofted bunk bed.

He didn't say anything right away, and I glanced at Tyler wondering if he was actually pissed off about catching us on the couch, but Tyler rolled his eyes and waved me off.

"Sleep ok?" I finally asked.

"Mmm, fine. You guys have fun fucking last night again? Some more? All the goddamn time."

"We did, yeah," I answered, nodding quickly and happily.

He scoffed, and then started eating the cereal he poured messily. "Oh, I almost forgot. Nice tits last night. Just wanted to mention."

"Hey—if you like where your balls are, you'll keep your mouth shut and your eyes averted," Tyler said.

Aidan put his hands up. "I'm just paying your girlfriend a compliment!"

"So if you _do _start humping the couch, now I'll know why," I threw at him. "You'll be thinking about me and my tits."

Tyler choked on his coffee, and Aidan gave me a full open-mouthed view of his cereal while he tried to come up with something to say back to me. He never did think of anything to say to that by the time we left for the appointment.

~ooOoo~

I didn't really like doctors. They talk over your head or they talk to you like you're five; and in my experience, a lot of them aren't very nice. Of course, that could be because the foster system didn't really have great doctors, and my other experiences tended to be after really fucked up shit happened to me. So, I wasn't exactly _thrilled_ to be here. But at the same time, I wanted this with Tyler, so I could put up with it.

We got this mountain of paperwork to do first. And I was already kind of annoyed because that meant I was going to have to read shit, and that took me a long fucking time. Of course, Tyler must have thought of that, because when we sat down, he just started reading the questions quietly. And saying completely sarcastic or ridiculous answers for the questions.

_Reason for visit today?_ Chicken nuggets

_Have you taken any medication or drugs of any kind today? _Can cookies be a drug?

"Seriously? _Do you have an allergy to latex or shellfish?_ Why the fuck are those two together? Why would you ever need to know if I'm allergic to shellfish? Like it's going to be near a condom and I'd die twice? The fuck?"

_First day of last menstrual period?_ Well, I can tell you when Aidan's was…

_Tobacco Use: If current smoker, are you interested in quitting?_ Certainly not while filling this fucker out

He was incredibly sweet. And wound up basically filling mine out because it was just faster. He did his own and then just asked me the shit on the paper, and he didn't linger on anything, even the really awkward questions that I sort of didn't realize would be on there. Like the fact that I knew nothing about my family's health history because I never really knew my family. Or that I couldn't remember if I had all the vaccinations I was supposed to get as a kid.

He stopped a few times when I said I didn't know, like it surprised him for a second, but then he'd just nod and say quietly, "We'll just put 'don't know.'"

He took a deep breath. "Ok, so… I understand there's probably shit that you don't want me to know yet, or don't want to tell me. So if there's something you don't want to answer, we'll leave it blank and you can just tell the doctor, ok?"

He was so sweet. I nodded. "Ok."

He took another deep breath before he started. "At what age did you first engage in sexual activity?"

"Like…any kind of sexual activity or sex?"

"I think they mean any kind."

I thought a second. "I think, like, twelve."

He wrote it down and he was thinking, I could tell. "Would it help if I told you mine?"

Jesus, I didn't need to cry in the middle of Planned Parenthood. I swallowed thickly. "Yeah, that'd be great." Wouldn't make mine any less fucked up, but he was trying.

"I was fifteen. Her name was Regean. Regean Callaway. She was… Well let's just say that she was probably named after the girl from _The Exorcist_, and the similarities didn't end there. She was a horribly pretentious bitch of a girl."

I laughed, and he smiled. "Was Jeremy your first?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

He nodded, and then looked back at the paper. "I think I can answer the next few because I'm pretty sure you haven't slept with any other women, and you're currently only fucking me, and it's been that way for six months. Right?"

I smirked. "Yeah, that's right."

"They ask how many sexual partners you've had in your lifetime. Is that something you can answer or would you like me to put 'don't know' for that one?"

God, I mean…there were no other guys that would be this understanding. Or helpful. Or trying to save me the extra hurt. "Don't know would be good there. I can explain why to them later."

He wrote it down. "K, so pretty much, when I think about it… I was a total slut before you met me."

I burst out laughing.

"No, I'm serious. Because I had a lot of one night stands, and I had a lot of repeat one night stands with chicks that thought the second time around I was really going to want to be in a relationship with them, and I was only looking to get laid. I really didn't care."

I was actually very curious now. "Ok, so how many did you write down?"

"I estimated in the 30s. Probably more toward the late 30s."

I giggled. "Well. I'm glad you're getting tested then again…for my health." I shoulder bumped him.

He smiled. "Yeah. It's a good idea."

"Slut," I said quietly under my breath.

He laughed. "Yep. And the next one asks about if you always used condoms, so I was honest and said 'sometimes,' because I was occasionally stupid."

"Yeah, you can put that for me, too."

"Ok, the next is relationship history and the six month ones are all answerable unless you'd like to tell them that I frighten you or steal your birth control."

"No, I think I'm ok."

"Then there's an 'ever' question: 'Has anyone forced you into a sexual act ever in your lifetime?'"

I don't think he was going to be surprised by this answer, but I suppose it was confirmation he either wanted but didn't really want to hear, or knew, but didn't know if he wanted to know it. "Yeah, I have been," I said.

He checked the little box. And what a truly huge thing to have such a small box for. He put the clipboard on his lap and scooted my chair closer to his, and then pulled me into a one armed hug and kissed my temple. I mean, there wasn't anything he could say. And it wasn't something I was going to spill right now, which he knew. I turned when he let go and pressed my own kiss into his neck, leaning my head on his shoulder and leaving it there.

He was quiet for another second and then picked up with the gynecological section all about my periods, which he handled really maturely. Maybe it was because he had a sister.

"Have you ever had a sexually transmitted infection? And then they list a bunch." And I liked that he barreled right in without me answering first. "I had Chlamydia. Twice."

I was trying not to laugh, and he was doing this for me—he wanted me to feel better. He smiled when he saw my grin. "Pretty sure it was the same chick. I shoulda never slept with her that second time."

"Yeah, probably not the best idea." I looked down at the sheet. "I had it once, too. And Gonorrhea."

"I think the next question is completely pointless because it asks if you've had a partner with an STD. I mean, isn't that kind of implicit if we just answered yes to the other question? I didn't get it from the air." I'm pretty sure the answer he wrote down there was rather sarcastic. And included the word 'obviously.' "Have you been on birth control before?"

"I was on the pill in Vegas. Nothing else, other than condoms."

"Any miscarriages, pregnancies, or—"

"No."

"K. I can get the last two." He blew out a breath. "I think we're done."

"Good."

"I'll turn in the paperwork."

"Tyler?"

"Yeah?" he turned to look at me.

"Thank you."

He smiled and ducked his head, but didn't say anything else.

Now the fun began. We were separated for the STD testing, where I had to pee, was pricked, and swabbed and got to "expand" on certain questions. It wasn't as horrible as it could have been—she was nice enough, and once I explained I'd been a hooker, there really wasn't all that much to explain. Funny that was about the only time I didn't have to fill in a lot of the blanks. She did ask me about domestic abuse and if I was sure Tyler wasn't hurting me, as we both still looked like we'd been run over twice. Shit was fading, but it was still there, and I was surprised that I was actually honest with the lady—I didn't use Tyler's bullshit mugging story, I just flat out told her that I'd been attacked by my landlord and Tyler beat him up. This medical confidential shit was kinda sweet.

Tyler was already back in the waiting room when they sent me out to wait for the exam part.

"Hey, you ok?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "It was ok. She was really nice. She hugged me at the end. Which…I don't really like being hugged by people I don't even know, but it was nice she cared. I'm supposed to tell the doctor to give me boosters of vaccines or some shit because don't know if I've had them before. Remind me, because I'll probably forget."

"Ok."

We weren't waiting very long when they called my name again. And I'm not really sure what happened, but for some reason I just didn't want to go. So I didn't get up right away and I knew Tyler was watching me, and wondering what the fuck was going on, but I just couldn't move. I was fine sitting right there in the chair, thanks. And I remember sort of turning to him, and looking at him in this completely emotionless way. It was just an exam. It was nothing that I was afraid of, or that I hadn't had before. He blinked at me exactly three times; I counted; nothing really on his face, either. And he stood up and put his hand out, and I grabbed it and then it was ok. And the nurse was sort of looking at us like we were crazy, but that was ok, too. She led us over for weight and height, and then took us to a room where she took temperature and blood pressure, and she handed me one of those paper gown things that are basically made of tissue paper. And then she hilariously asked if I wanted him to step outside while I got changed.

I laughed. "No, he's seen it all."

I suppose we did sort of look like poster children for some sort of abusive relationship. They didn't know us at all, and it wasn't the same nurse who'd gotten my whole life's history. We both had bruises and he sort of was oozing protectiveness right now. But she nodded, and left, and I started peeling off clothing.

He sighed. "Yep, they all think I'm an asshole."

I chuckled. "Well at least they don't all know you're a slut."

He snorted. "That's true. I do have that going for me." He grabbed my clothes from me and tossed them on the chair, tying the gown for me. "I can leave for this part if you want. I just thought—you seemed like you needed…" He ran his hand through his hair. "Support or something."

"I want you to stay. If you're allowed to stay." I didn't know what the rules were. It wasn't like when Jordan had taken me before. Maybe that wasn't allowed.

He nodded. "Then I'm staying. I don't give a fuck if it's allowed or not."

I smiled and moved closer to him; he just opened his arms, and I stepped in, and that's pretty much how we were when the doctor came in. "Hi, Allison. I'm Dr. Grace."

I stopped leaning my head on Tyler, but he kept holding me. "Hi." I motioned to Tyler with my head. "This is my boyfriend, Tyler."

"Hello, Tyler."

"Hi."

"Is Tyler staying in the room for the exam?"

"I want him to. If that's allowed."

He shot me this look like _I ain't leavin' anyway._

"As long as you're comfortable with it, he can stay."

I sighed, relieved that he could stay in the room.

"Why don't you lie on the table and we'll start with the breast exam, ok?"

So Tyler moved back and sat down in the chair, and I laid back and this wasn't so bad. I remembered this part from before. It was better with a chick; I always felt like I was getting half felt up when it was a guy doctor.

"Do you have any concerns before we start? Anything that's been a problem?"

"No," I answered quickly. Just fucking get it over with already.

"Ok, I need you to scoot towards the end of the table, and put your feet in the stirrups."

I wondered if it was odd that I didn't have any embarrassment about Tyler being in the room with me. I mean, that was a good thing, right? Or was that really strange? Would a different, less fucked up couple be really weirded out by this?

"Ok, Allison, now I'm going to start the external exam. You'll feel my fingers."

Way to be all up front, but I kinda figured that part out already. She was a woman, and it wasn't like I hadn't had a fuckton of completely random people touch me before, or put their fingers in me. But maybe because I was with Tyler now, and I was used to his fingers, her fingers on me just felt wrong. I tensed. And he knew it. And of course so did she. And she hadn't even put them in me yet. Jesus, how would that go? She was just going to do the external exam. Fuck. Maybe it would have been better if she wasn't so up front.

"Are you doing ok, Allison?"

"Yeah." I closed my eyes, the fucking picture of some lame-ass beach somewhere on the ceiling was not distracting, or comforting, or anything. And I didn't really want to turn my head to look at Tyler, because it was stupid—I shouldn't need to look at him to do this.

"Just relax," she said, quietly, as though that would solve all of those problems and I'd just relax instantly. "Nothing to worry about."

She finished with the external, and I could tell the internal was coming soon, and I could hear the tube of lube. "Spread a little more for me," she said, her hands gentle on my legs. "Good. Thanks." My hands were linked together over my stomach, and I knew if I was looking at them, they'd be all white from the tension. Waiting for her fingers was way worse I decided.

"Your pictures suck in here," Tyler suddenly announced. And his voice was literally right next to me. I wasn't expecting it, and it'd been so quiet, that I opened my eyes and he was just right there. Chair pulled over right next to the table. He was looking up at the ceiling. He hadn't shaved all week, and I never remembered to tell him how much I liked him with the scruff so long it was bordering on near-beard. I focused on the few tiny hairs that were just a bit longer than the rest of them right at the end of his chin. And thought about how strange it was for the beard not to feel scratchy to me anymore with that much shit on his face. And I found myself smiling.

"I'm sorry you don't approve. What would you suggest instead?" The doctor asked.

"I dunno," he said, shrugging. "Something more interesting than that generic shit on the ceiling. There's nothing to analyze in that."

"I don't think most women are here to analyze what's on the ceiling, Tyler," she said. I jerked my eyes down to her and she smiled at me over the towel. "The gel will feel a little cool."

It was ok now though. I didn't really notice what she was doing because he was looking at me instead now. "What are you supposed to do, count the clouds in the picture?"

He rested his elbows on the table. "I suppose porn would be inappropriate."

I blew out a short laugh, but I saw the eyebrow raise from the doctor. She was smirking though.

"Or that might be more for the male crowd. Although, I'm sure there could be naked guys on the ceiling for the ladies." He considered that for a second, looking up at the ceiling like he was imagining. "Nah, let's forget that idea. I've reconsidered."

He smiled down at me. "Maybe a TV."

"That's a good idea," I agreed.

"Ok, Allison, almost done." I wasn't really paying attention to her at all anymore. "This may be a little uncomfortable."

He grabbed the hand closest to him, kissing my knuckles. "I think we should order in for dinner."

I giggled, because that was completely ridiculous to be talking about now, in here. But then pretty much everything he said had been, and that was the point.

Her finger was definitely not in a place I wanted it. And that was impossible to ignore. I clamped on his hand with the intrusion.

"It'll be over in just a second," the doctor rambled on.

"I was thinking Italian." He moved my hand so I could cup the back of his neck and I basically just latched on there—no cupping, slowly gripping his shirt until it was fisted in my hand. And he just kept moving closer, so by the time she was done, his face was nearly touching mine, and he listed just about everything you could order at any Italian place. He pressed a kiss to my cheek, his hand stroking over the top of my head.

Then finally her goddamn finger was gone and she was taking gloves off, putting the stirrups down and letting me get back on the bed so my ass wasn't hanging off the table. "All done. Everything looks good. I'll give you a few minutes to change and clean up, and then we can talk about any concerns you might have and birth control."

She turned and left and Tyler looked back at me. "I could have told her that."

I laughed but it almost came out more like a sob, and I rolled into him and he just held onto me, covering me with himself. "You did great."

God, I was an adult who just needed him to hold my hand during a pelvic exam. I'm not sure how _great _that was. "Ugh." I wasn't crying, but I really didn't feel completely stable either. I was so fucking weird.

He moved back, but kept a hold of one of my hands while he grabbed my clothes. And then he kept handing me shit until I was dressed.

"You ok?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine," I repeated.

He nodded shortly, but I don't think he believed me. But I was really grateful when he changed the subject again because I really didn't know what the fuck I had such a problem with to start with. "So you want Italian for dinner, or something else?"

I smiled gently, eyebrows lifting. "Um, can we get a burger?"

He smiled back at me. "Paul's is on the way back."

"Did you really want Italian?"

He shook his head. "No, I was just suggesting. We can get whatever you want. You pick."

"I want a burger." Comfort food. Or something.

"They have root beer floats."

I beamed at him. "Ohhhh, I want one."

He smiled. "Pretty sure they have Cajun fries, too."

The doctor came back in the second I basically squealed, "_Really?!_" at him, and he was excitedly nodding back to me.

She chuckled. "I always like to see people that happy about birth control."

"Nope, it was the prospect of root beer floats and Cajun fries that did it, I'm afraid. I guess birth control is third," Tyler said back to her.

"Well, I'll take in the top three. Better than nothing." She smiled at us for a second and I sat down again on the table while Tyler retook his spot standing right next to me.

She held something out to both of us, and I was surprised it was just a little card. "We'll send all your samples in, and these will allow you to call in for the results in a few days."

Then she launched into the safe sex speech, which was sort of the whole point to our being here, and I felt basically completely pointless because if we hadn't given a shit, we wouldn't have bothered coming here at all. I guess she had to say the same thing to everyone, but whatever. Just give us our shit so we could go have Paul's burgers with root beer floats, please.

"Given both of your past histories, even in monogamous relationships, we usually suggest STD tests yearly, and pelvic exams yearly as well."

I nodded.

"There are many different types of birth control. For your age, and life style, I'd suggest the pill, or patch, but there are other options like the shot, or the ring."

I shook my head right away. "No, I'm not doing the whole shove something inside me shit." I paused and then jerked a thumb at Tyler. "He's the only something inside."

The doctor cracked a smile. "Ok. I have a number of patients that like the convenience of the shot, but I'd caution against that as it's still fairly new, and there have been studies that bone thinning that occurs may not be reversible once you stop getting the shot."

"K, that's out," Tyler provided.

"Then I'd suggest the combination pill or the patch. They're basically the same mechanism. I wouldn't suggest the minipill. Some people prefer the pill that they take every day. Some people like that they just have to change the patch once a week. It's more a case of personal preference, or if you know you're a good or bad pill taker."

I snorted. I mean, I couldn't help myself. It wasn't funny at all, but I never had a problem taking pills, and it just struck me as funny in a really stupid way. "Sorry," I said. "I can take a pill every day, that's fine. I did before."

"They work most effectively when you take them at the same time every day. So just get back into a routine where you do that."

"Ok."

I suddenly had a really depressing realization. "Fuck. They don't work right away, right?" Not like I would have remembered that necessarily when I was fucked up and high, and Damon was all—you _need to take this shit so you don't get pregnant_, but it seemed much more annoying now.

The doctor shook her head. "Nothing is immediately effective unless you start within five days after the start of your period. As you don't have your period right now, you'll still need to use a back-up method of birth control. You can start the pills today; you'll be protected from pregnancy after seven days."

"Ugh. That blows."

Tyler snickered, and the doctor smiled gently at me. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

I waved her off.

"Do you have any questions?"

"No," I said sighing.

Tyler shook his head. "Think we're good."

"Ok, then, I'll get you prescription for the pills ready and you can be on your way."

"Thanks," we both said.

I was kind of shocked when the prescription included a year's worth of pills. And basically our combined weight in condoms. He could have saved so much money in condoms if we just would have come here first. We were ushered through the checkout, and this survey thing, and then we were done. It really hadn't taken _that_ long, although it seemed like it was when we'd been in there.

Tyler grabbed my hand while we started walking, and he kept sidelining these looks at me, and I think it was because I was being quiet. Mostly because I was annoyed that things weren't immediate. And because it was something I wanted. I never wanted anything. Why couldn't this one thing be immediate? And what would the real risk be if we just did it anyway? Probably close to nothing.

He squeezed my hand and I looked over at him. "What are you thinking about so hard over there?"

I slowed our walk, pulling on his hand until he stopped. "What if we did it anyway?"

"What?"

"If we did it anyway when we got home."

He cracked a smile at me. "If this is a test, I'm going to pass with flying colors."

"No, really. Seriously. The chances are, like, barely anything."

His brow furrowed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"That's not… Were you just in the room with me?"

"Yeah. I want it anyway."

"I want it, too, but that's not a good idea. I told you I wasn't going to be stupid with you anymore."

"Maybe I want to be stupid." I sounded like a kid. A really bratty kid. The kind I really hated. And I didn't care. I sort of wanted to pitch a fit here on the sidewalk. Throw the pills down and watch as the bag of condoms exploded all over the street. It was careless, and stupid, and irresponsible. But I _wanted_ it.

He sighed. "It's not good to test Tyler's limits." He pulled on my hand. "And I don't think you want to be stupid, either."

I whined, letting him drag me behind him for a minute. "I doooooo. I want to be stupid."

He laughed. "You really don't. It's only a week. We've waited longer than a week for shit before."

"Not lately," I whined some more.

"Just think of all the build-up we can have in a week. The anticipation will be great."

"Ugh. Or torture."

"Sweet, sweet torture."

"You are such a fucking dork."

"We probably have to go back to work anyway, that'll make the time go faster."

"Well add fucking buzzkill to the dork."

"I was trying to be helpful. I'm sorry. We do have all weekend."

"Yeah."

"C'mon. Cheer up. There's a burger, Cajun fries, a root beer float, and whatever sexual act you want, with that one exception, in your future."

"You realize when these seven days are up, like… All bets are off, right? You'll be lucky if you survive."

"Who said I wasn't going to be the same way?"

"Oh?"

"Just because I have more self-control than you right now, doesn't mean I will in a week. You'll be lucky if you can walk the next day."

I burst out laughing, and he let go of my hand, curling me into him instead, his arm around my waist. "Ok. That I can wait for."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	37. Chapter 37

**I'm going to be a few minutes late, but July 31st is National Orgasm Day, and it seemed appropriate to post... :P **

* * *

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

* * *

**TPOV**

Self-control, in a word, sucked.

That's not to say that I wasn't going to apply it, but things were much more fun when you could throw all that shit out the window and just go for the instant gratification. I think it said more about how I felt about her than anything about myself that I kept making sure we had some semblance, any semblance of it left. Or maybe it was just because I knew that waiting was better for her. I really didn't give a shit about myself. If it was anyone else, I would have crumbled a long time ago.

And she was making that increasingly difficult—I wanted to just give in.

Not that she was doing it on purpose; she wasn't trying to completely destroy my new-found sense of responsibility. I'd never felt this…mature. I think I spent a lot of time in the past thinking I was mature, but really, I hadn't known anything about it until I met Allison. I liked exerting what I thought was maturity, but the relationships I had before were self-indulging, and momentary—it sort of felt like I'd just been passing the time until she came along. But it was like she was in between where I was now, and where I'd been; the immediacy of having what she wanted _now_ warring with what she knew to be the better choice.

It was just that I was not normally the voice of reason in a relationship.

We decided just to eat at Paul's since we were already there. She was so _cute_. She changed her mind three times about which burger she wanted because she wanted them all. She bounced between a Texas Burger, to an English Burger, to an El Paso Burger, and finally settled on a Bacon Burger, and was practically giddy about the root beer float. The girl sitting next to me at the counter, with her hand on my thigh, and her smile huge when they sat the float glasses down, was so different than the girl I met so many months ago. But at the same time, she was exactly the same; she was just _more_ now. Everything was more now.

The allure of simply going home and just going for it was temporarily sidelined by burgers and a fucking root beer float. _Iloveyou._

Waiting was still right; it was smart. I wouldn't jeopardize her _more_ for anything. No matter how much I wanted to sacrifice my own self-control.

I leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"What was that for?"

'_Cause I'm stupid in love with you, and you're completely adorable_. "Just because," I said instead, shrugging.

~ooOoo~

I grabbed her hand as we left the restaurant, listening to her laud the root beer floats like they were liquid gold. I pointed out that we could make them anytime we wanted at home if we just bought some root beer and ice cream, and I think she just about peed from the excitement. And we had to make a plan to get the ingredients.

Her phone rang halfway between Paul's and my apartment and she started patting pockets to find which one she stuffed it in, shoving the paper bag at me while she checked the display. "Fuck."

"What?"

"It's Anatoly." She looked up me. "I better take it."

I nodded. "Ok. I'll wait over there." I parked it on some brownstone's stairway. I really didn't think they would care, and I wouldn't be there that long anyway.

"No, thanks, I'm doing much better," filtered in from her conversation, and she was looking down at the sidewalk, not really paying attention to her surroundings. She walked back and forth in front of me a few times. He must have been asking when she thought she could come back to work. Too bad both of us had to do that soon.

It was probably really inherently wrong to feel anything positive about what happened with the landlord. I wasn't grateful, that was the totally the wrong sentiment, but appreciative maybe, for the chance to have basically an entire week of interrupted time with her. The mechanism for how we got the time was fucked up, but everything that came from it—I couldn't look at that as anything but positive.

I watched her turn on her heel and hop a step back in my direction. I smirked as she started this jittery kind of nervous bounce to her step, like she was anxious for the call to end, but knew she couldn't hang up.

Sometimes with her, I don't think I can really explain what happens to my brain. It was like she made it detach sometimes, and that wasn't always good. I already knew myself well enough to know that I did shit before completely thinking it through, and when she encouraged or facilitated that in me—I got even stupider. And that was the one thing I never wanted to with her again.

I don't think either of us spent a lot of time thinking about the first time we really had sex in the alley, because she was right—we were different people then, and we weren't in the right mindset for it. But I don't discount or forget what happened or what I did. And I suppose it's always the… Not the standard I go by, but just—it's always there lingering. Just in case I step too close to that line.

And I did, yesterday. I didn't think. And we were both too caught up in everything to stop and think. Or we didn't care. I'm not sure which was worse. They were probably equally bad.

But it was a huge failure on my part. Fucking her without protection—I couldn't keep her safe if I wasn't going to follow my own rules. It wasn't that I was concerned that either of us had something we were going to spread to each other. I suppose we both should have been a little more concerned about that given our histories, but we were both incredibly lucky. It wasn't even really the idea that I was inside her without a condom. It was the implication. It was the possibility. And the two of us having a kid was just… We were just figuring us out; it wasn't a good place to forever alter our lives.

I should have stopped. Because not stopping and just barreling ahead anyway was one step closer to more risk later. I don't know why I even asked if she wanted me to pull out. The only answer was yes. Things with her felt so good, the temptation to just let myself feel that, pushing inside her and being assaulted with her heat and her wetness, and nothing else between us, and to come in her—we were lucky I could even stop. Because she wanted it, too. And I think if I hadn't asked, she wouldn't have said anything—she just would have let me come in her. So if she wasn't going to be able to protect herself, even from me, then I had to make sure I did.

I'm not sure her reaction ultimately surprised me or not. I knew she thought it was stupid for me to be mad at myself, but her quick leap to—_well then we need birth control_—it was great to see her make that kind of decision. And not just for me, not for someone else, but for herself, too. A problem presented itself, and she reasoned it out, found the best possible solution for both of us. It said something that she suggested it herself.

I wasn't actually sure how I was going to handle the implication of the end of the week. Because just the idea of actually having sex with her and coming in her, and that she was the one that suggested it, wanted it… What did I have that made her think she wanted to share that with me? I mean, I was nice to her; I was nicer than most of the guys she knew before, and I tried to treat her right, but, I was still essentially a fuck-up. I didn't have anything to offer her that got her out of the station she was in right now. I didn't have a career path; I didn't know what I was going to do with my life. I floated. What was appealing about a fuck-up floater that had screwed up a lot of things with her in the beginning? Why would she think that person was the one she wanted to share this huge thing with? I mean, it didn't get any closer than this. This was sort of the end-all for sexual intimacy. And it was going to be another first for her. A willing kind of first. I wasn't sure I deserved all those firsts.

She was this amazing person that seemed to think I was a much better person that I was. And she deserved a lot more than I could give her.

_I_ wanted to give her more than I could give her.

She stopped walking, just shuffling from foot to foot a little to the left of me. Every few shuffles one of her feet would stop momentarily and tap against the pavement impatiently. The call must have been winding down.

I wanted to make her happy. I wanted her to be safe. I wanted to take care of her. I just didn't know why she thought I was capable of any of those things.

She pressed the 'End' button on the phone harshly and let out an aggravated sigh as she turned around and walked over to me. "He means well, but he doesn't fucking shut up." I smiled at her when she stopped in front of me. From where I was on the stairs we were nearly eye level. She took two steps and landed sideways in my lap, her arms going around my neck and her body turning so she could kiss me. "Hey."

"Hi."

"You alone out here?"

"Looks that way."

"This your house?" she nudged her head up at the brownstone behind us.

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Whatcha doin' out here then?"

"Waiting for a nice, unsuspecting girl like yourself to happen upon me."

"Really? And you think that's me, huh?"

"Worth a shot."

"And what were you gonna do with this girl you were waiting for?"

"I hadn't decided yet."

"Hmm." She toed one of the paper bags on the step. "Whatcha got in the bags?"

"Condoms."

She giggled. "Are you coming on to me, stranger?"

"What if I said yes? I have an awful lot of condoms to use…"

"Mmm, my boyfriend might not like that too much."

"You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend."

"Yep."

"Where is he then?"

"Oh, he's around."

"Just lurking? Waiting?"

"Yeah. He'll be coming by pretty soon."

"Hmm. Maybe you'd like me better."

"I doubt that. My boyfriend's pretty awesome."

"He is, huh. What makes him awesome?"

She settled in my lap more, resting her body against mine. "Well, he's very understanding. And he's really nice. And he's pretty cute."

"That makes him awesome? _I'm_ pretty cute."

"Not quite as cute as my boyfriend. He also doesn't interrupt me."

I chuckled.

"He's thoughtful. And he fills out awkward paperwork because he can. And he goes with me to Planned Parenthood appointments. Even came in for the exam with me. Bet you wouldn't do that."

"Nah, probably not. He sounds like kind of a pussy."

She blew out a laugh, but kissed me gently. "He's the farthest thing from a pussy…"

"Hmm."

"Other guys wouldn't have done that."

"You don't think so?"

"No, I know so. They would have just made me go alone. Or would have been too weirded out to even try it. And you read me really well. You always know when I need you."

"It wasn't a big deal."

"It was a big deal to me. I don't think I could have done that without you there today. I don't really know why either. I wasn't uncomfortable. She was a woman. But I just… I couldn't do it alone."

"You don't have to do anything alone."

"Not anymore, no."

"I just distracted you." I shrugged.

She shook her head at me slowly, her hand moving to my cheek. "You did a lot more than that."

"Mmm." I paused. I knew she'd needed me. And while I can't say I've ever done that for anyone else, I didn't really think about it then. I hated the thought of more mistakes, or poor choices, and if this was what she needed, then that's what I would do. "So…this boyfriend. Why was he taking you to Planned Parenthood?"

"Birth Control."

"Ah. Well I just happen to have all these condoms… How's that for birth control?"

"That'll work for this week, but not next."

"What's next week?"

"We've decided to take the next step."

"Getting hitched, huh?"

She giggled. "No. We don't want to use the condoms anymore. So I needed the pills so we can go without them."

"That's a pretty big step."

"Mmhmm."

"Why you want to make that step with him?"

"I told you; he's awesome."

"That's not a very good reason." I suppose this was kind of unfair. Because I'm sure it was hard to tell if I was being completely serious or not. But I still wanted to see what her answer was.

Nope. That one did it. Her face changed, and I think she knew that I set kidding aside.

"Why wouldn't I want to make that step with you?"

"I just don't want you to regret something later."

Her face softened and she smiled gently at me. "I'm not going to regret anything later. There isn't anyone else I would want it with."

"But you haven't been with anyone else. How do you know that?"

"Because I know you. And everything is different now with you."

I sighed. "I think you give me way more credit than you should. I haven't done anything for you—you did all those things to make it different."

"Pffft, that's total fucking bullshit. The only reason I'm right here is because of you. And I'm happy. I've never been this happy. You did that."

"No one can make someone else happy."

"That's bullshit, too." She ran her hand through my hair. "What's this about? Are you having second thoughts?"

"No," I said quickly. "I want that with you. I just want to make sure you want it with me."

"Why would I say I did if I really didn't?"

"I dunno. Because you think it's what I want."

Her brow furrowed again just a tiny bit. "I know what I want, Tyler. I want you."

I nodded. "Ok."

She was quiet for a second, her legs swinging slightly as they hung off of my lap. "I don't know why you want to be with me, either—if that's what you're asking."

I smiled. Much more perceptive than she alluded to sometimes. "Guess it's a mystery then."

"I think I just stopped trying to figure it out. You say you do. That's enough for me now."

I pulled her closer, her head on my shoulder. "It's always enough. I just don't want to fuck you up."

She let out a huge sigh, and pushed off of my lap. "Fucking Christ. Let's go, ya weirdo. Pick up your condoms before someone thinks you're a walking ad for safe sex. We could be putting them to good use instead of sitting out here talking about shit you should already know."

I smiled, and indeed picked up the bags, grabbing the hand she had extended waiting for me. We walked half a block before I said, "You talk to you boyfriend that way? Because I won't take that kind of abuse."

She yanked on my hand and pulled me over for a kiss. "It's a good thing you're a really good lay."

Well, I'd take that as a compliment.

And I had to tease her then when we got back to the apartment. I plopped down on the couch with an exhale, condoms dropped on the coffee table. She looked over at me for a second, before looking off at the bedroom with this half surprised/half confused look on her face. Or like I was supposed to follow that line of vision and get the fucking point. "What are you doing?" she finally asked.

"Thought I'd watch a movie. Horror maybe. Or action. Something with a lot of gore. Wanna join me?" I smiled widely, but I thought I was fairly convincing in my seriousness.

She blinked at me. And I just kept expectantly smiling. She pursed her lips, nodded once and took off down the hall. "Yeah, I wanna change first."

Well, shit. That didn't go how I thought it would. Did she think I really wanted to watch a movie now? I had no interest in movies with gore, or movies at all. I was halfway off the couch to follow her and tell her I was just teasing when she walked back out. Her changed attire consisted of one of my T-shirts, and for some reason this one looked even more like she was drowning in it. She padded over to the couch and sidestepped me to plop down herself. "You gonna make popcorn?" she asked, looking up at me.

"Um, yeah. I can make popcorn."

She shrugged. "We don't need any. Just put it in."

It was my turn to blink at her. Was she teasing me back? Some sort of reversal of my reversal? I wasn't sure that was legal. And I was actually getting kind of confused now. So I put a DVD in, and I can say with all honesty that I have no idea what DVD it even was. I didn't pay attention; I was completely distracted now. I plopped down again, sitting on the opposite side of the couch because she was sitting sideways, and she smiled at me just as widely as I had smiled at her when she put her feet in my lap. Like she was just the happiest she could ever be not having sex with me. I think I totally fucked this up. And I was kind of, scratch that, I was really fucking pissed off at myself. I should have just walked right to the bedroom and we'd be halfway to orgasm by now, but no, I had to try to be…whatever, and now I was stuck watching this whateverthefuckitwas movie with her feet in my lap. I sighed quietly, and was going to just mope and lean my head on my hand on the arm of the couch, when I realized I couldn't even fucking do that because of the brace, and life just was annoying and sucky at the moment.

I was such a fucking dumbass. I don't think I was even seeing the screen. I was staring at some point around it, not taking anything in.

She laughed at something on screen, and uncrossed her feet, the foot nearest to me shifting even closer. Her heel dug into my thigh as she laughed again, and did I mention how much this fucking sucked?

Or at least it did until the heel kept moving until it was rubbing right over my cock. I looked down at it, and yes, it was most definitely a deliberate thing. My eyes tracked up her leg, and it took me a minute to actually meet her eyes, because along with the cock-rubbing through my jeans, she'd also parted her legs, and the shirt had been too long when she was standing for me to notice that it was all she had on. She was smirking when my eyes made it to her face.

"You are such a fucking idiot."

"I am. I really am."

"And you don't react well to tables being turned on you."

"Well!" I said; all exasperated and almost more annoyed. "I didn't know! I thought then maybe you didn't want to! I didn't know!" I was repeating myself, and I couldn't even express what I wanted to. I was too… I don't even know. She made me crazy. It could have been because she was still rubbing her foot over my cock and it was becoming increasingly difficult to even have a conversation.

"The pouting was cute, though."

How could she just be so calm and everything? I blew out a breath, my eyes dropping again to her pussy, because she hadn't closed her legs, and I mean, there was no way my vision wasn't going to be right _there_. She was already getting wet. I forced my eyes back up to hers.

"You wanna fuck me now?"

I nodded. "Definitely."

She scrambled up and I pretty much chased her to the bedroom, slamming the door behind us. She surprised me again by turning right before I descended on her, and completely spun us around, pretty much tumbling us to the bed. She landed on me, and the back of my head smacked into the wall. Since we were already kissing and I had an ass-full of horny girlfriend, I really didn't care. She pulled back, giggling. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Maybe it'll knock some sense it you."

I nodded. "Yeah, that would be good." I shifted so I was sitting up more and pulled her closer to me, cupping her ass while she rubbed against me and her hands started messing up my hair.

The only thing that would make this better was if she lost the shirt, and we must have had the same idea at the same time because she was lifting mine the same time I started making a grab for hers. Her hands went straight to my jeans and she laughed again when I plunked her back on the bed for a second, and we both worked on getting my jeans and shorts off. Then it was lapful of horny, _wet_ girlfriend again, and I couldn't get my fingers in her fast enough.

She started kissing my neck when my fingers pushed inside her and our moans matched almost perfectly. She blew air over my neck, chuckling.

"Been thinking about me, huh?" I shuddered at the air and marveled at how sensitive I was, and that she knew exactly how to make me that way. So my question wasn't quite as sexy as I imagined it to be.

"While waiting for you to take a hint, yeah."

I snorted. "Sorry I kept you waiting."

She was already squirming against my fingers as I curled them inside her, her hands kneading on my shoulders until she shifted closer so she could go back to making me shudder with her mouth on my neck. I was beginning to think it was not a good idea that I told her that; it made concentrating on shit extremely difficult. She made her way over my jaw, licking over the cut on my cheek before she met my mouth. I pulled back from her kisses. "Are you sore? We don't have to—we can do whatever you want. We don't have to fuck."

Her hands cupped my face. "I'm good. I want to."

I nodded, easing my fingers out of her and shamelessly licking her off of them before shifting her with me again to grab a condom from the nightstand. Thankfully I still had some in here; going all the way to the living room where I dropped the bags was not appealing. Of course, trying to open a drawer backwards with a brace wasn't very appealing either. She finally reached for me and grabbed one. "Fucking brace. This is so coming off."

She pushed herself back on my legs and ripped the package with her teeth. That should not have been as sexy as it was. "Like hell you are. You're leaving it on as long as the doctor tells you."

"You're very convincing naked and putting a condom on me."

She nodded. "I should be. I could do a lot of damage. It stays on," she said, eyeballing me.

"Uh huh. For a week. Then no condom."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. But the brace stays on. Or I'll stop fucking you."

"Pffft. You couldn't stop fucking me. Not now."

"Well I'll do something else really bad then."

I laughed, pulling her back to me. "You work on that. Until then, get over here."

She crawled forward on her knees, straddling over me, and eased her way down. From the second I was pushing into her wetness, I think I knew this one wasn't lasting long. There was too much built up, too much behind it. She was so wet, pushing in was effortless, but she clamped on me the second I was fully inside, and then she was moving, helping to get herself up and down on me. I wasn't sitting up all the way, but enough that I could move her up on my lap so her clit could rub against me. It also made her breasts way more accessible, and I made sure each got attention, sucking each nipple into my mouth until her nails were scraping against my back and she was holding my head to her.

Honestly, this one was over pretty quick. Which wasn't bad at all, actually the release of all the tension was kinda nice.

I think I was even more sensitive now though, with her hands on my back and in my hair while she pressed kisses into my head. And I really have no idea why, but I felt really…clingy. I dunno. I just didn't want to let her go, or move at all. Maybe because I knew that after this weekend we had to go back to reality, and I couldn't just have her all to myself anymore. So I pretty much just wrapped my arms around her and didn't move; keeping my head pressed right near her shoulder. She didn't pull away, or ask me what the fuck I was doing, and why. Instead she just held onto me as tight as I was holding on to her, and kept pressing her cheek into my head in between kissing it.

I don't even know how long she stayed like that with me, but I might have dozed off for a few minutes. When I loosened my hold on her, she backed up a little, her hands moving right to my face and she kissed me. I don't normally quantify or classify kisses, but there are totally different types. There are the quick, peck-ish kind of kisses—the kind that are sort of on the fly and in passing. Or the—_I really need to get inside you but I don't want to be a non-gentleman so let's kiss quickly _—kind. Then there are the make-out kind of kisses; the kind that you're so far lost in the other person's mouth and everything is sort of reduced to your mouths moving against each other and tongues. Then there are those really passionate kinds of kisses; the kind where you feel like you can't breathe, but at the same time if you stop, breathing will cease with it, too. And your entire feeling for that other person is just all wrapped up in that kiss. There are easy kisses, awkward kisses, messy kisses, chaste kisses. It's sort of endless. I've also been with some truly terrible kissers. Or people that just put absolutely no effort whatsoever into kissing. Allison was neither of those things. She was a great kisser, and she always put something into her kisses. This one? I don't think I'd ever been the recipient of this one before. And I couldn't really classify it either. It felt a lot like gratitude mixed with love. And when she smiled at me after, her forehead pressed against mine, hands holding my face (I loved it when she did that), it was right there again. I wanted to tell her. _Iloveyou._ But she could only say it with a kiss right now, or she would have said it verbally. So I'd wait some more.

She kissed me again gently, her face changing slightly, and I grinned at her. She was still horny. "You wanna go again?" I asked.

I got another kiss. A quick kind. And she was easing off of me, grabbed the condom and tied it off and grabbed another one. She was quick when she was horny. Guess that was a yes. I got to just sit back and watch while she ripped the new one open with her teeth again, and she rolled it down my cock while shoving her tongue in my mouth. I kind of wanted to tell her that it was ridiculously sexy when she opened the condom that way—and it's not like other people didn't do it—she just did it with more attitude or something, but she was a little too busy trying to get laid again for me to get it out.

She kissed me hard one last time and then grinned and turned around, mounting me backwards. I pushed into her easily again, the wetness and heat and fucking hell. Not what I expected. Great, _great_ angle for me to get to hit her spot with my cock, not to mention that I could reach all of her—her clit, her breasts, her stomach, her arms, anything I wanted to touch, but also a horrible angle for healing ribs. The first time hadn't been long enough for me to really notice the angle much, but I wasn't sitting up and I wasn't lying down. I was somewhere between that, and she wanted to be close to me, so she leaned into me, her back resting against my chest, her head back on my shoulder, and of course, her fucking mouth sucking on my neck. Her hands kept holding and kneading my thighs while she tightened around me, and her hair smelled like my shampoo, and I she was pressing her ass into me, and I felt completely overwhelmed by everything about her.

I could thrust up into her a little, but beyond that, the position didn't allow for much, without my ribs being seriously pissed, so she was doing a fair amount of it herself, moving one hand to hold onto my neck. The fucking brace didn't help anything because I could only really touch her with the other hand without it being all awkward and annoying.

Yeah, I had to stop her. "Baby, stop a second." I tightened my hold on her stomach, stopping her movement.

She was panting but she turned her head into me, kissing my jaw. "You ok?"

"Yeah, just gimme a minute."

Her fingers ruffled through the hair at the back of my neck, and she was quiet for a second, then she shifted and her head turned more to look at me. "Is this hurting you?"

Err… Well… "No," I settled on. "Just need a breather." Ribs on fire, the usual.

She scoffed. "Don't lie to me, dumbass."

I mean, it wasn't _really _a _lie_, per se. "No, it's ok. Just gimme a minute."

But she was already scrambling off of me.

"Allison. I just need a minute."

"No, I should have thought of that. I'm sorry. This will be easier."

Which is pretty much when I realized her scrambling meant she'd gotten on all fours in front of me. She looked back at me. "C'mon."

I'm pretty sure I swallowed my tongue. Or the noise was my completely audible gulp. And my breathing was now officially fucked. Not that I hadn't imagined this about a thousand times, but I wanted to wait for her to…and now she had, and…

She wiggled her ass at me. "Well? C'mon!"

Fucking hell. I was the luckiest bastard ever.

And she was on all fours just waiting there for me, pussy all pink and puffy and wet and waiting and what the fuck was I waiting for? Luckiest fucking bastard.

I kneeled behind her, and she was still fucking grinning at me, and I really needed to do something here. It felt too... I didn't just want to line up and fuck her. I mean, I _did_, but I wouldn't do that. So I pressed against her, but I took a few minutes just to take her in like this before I started, because I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be able to appreciate her in the same way once I was inside her like this. She had a few scars; one half moon-shaped, and a few just pale lines, but her back was flawless and…delicate. She looked so much more delicate this way—elegant even, the graceful slope and dip in the middle. Her skin was pale and so soft and smooth, velvety, just like she was inside. The two little dimples just above her ass looked perfect for my thumbs to rest on. Her shoulder blades shifted when she readjusted her position, probably wondering what the fuck I was doing, her arms… Everything looked so feminine. And it wasn't that she wasn't normally, but there was just something about actually analyzing from this way.

I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt her. Or treat her badly. Protectiveness just inflated in my chest to an inordinate proportion. I started at her shoulders, the fingertips of each hand just skimming over her shoulder blades, her head dipping and goosebumps breaking out. I trailed my fingers down the sides, palming the roundness of her breasts quickly before running my whole hand down the expanse of her back.

She seemed so small. And she kept shivering from my touch, leaning into it, her back arching. I leaned forward over her and kissed her lightly in several spots, mouthing over the scars while soft moans that sounded the exact tone of contented I wanted for her tumbling out.

My hands wound up at her hips. "You ready?" I asked quietly.

She nodded shakily. "Yeah."

I pressed a final kiss right in the middle of her back and then lined myself up, pushing into her gently. I went slow to start, but it didn't matter what I did, she came quite literally apart in this position. It was quite possibly the loudest she was, ever. And she was obviously enjoying herself, pushing back against me, grunting with me as I thrust. She came once quickly, her whole body in the orgasm; and by the time the second one hit, her head was pressed into the bed and her ass was still up. I finished after her, her ass still pressing back into me, her pussy like a vice. I tipped us sideways and pulled her back to me, dropping the condom in the trash.

I was going to ask her about a million things. I mean, she obviously enjoyed it. But she was quiet now, and I wasn't sure if that was because she was processing or because something was wrong. She flipped suddenly, a grin on her face, and she pulled my face to hers.

"_That_ was fucking amazing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Another kiss. "Let's do it again."

I laughed. Her eyes were all wide and excited. "It's a good thing we have those entire two bags of condoms."

"So, so good."

And that's pretty much how it all started.

~ooOoo~

I wasn't sure I was going to make it through the entire week. She turned into Super Horny Girlfriend 2.0, and given that the previous week had been basically nothing but us hanging out, sleeping, cuddling, and fucking, that was sort of saying something. I think she was going for some kind of record.

And she kept…announcing it, or I don't even know what the word for it was. But like in the middle of dinner, with my fork halfway to my mouth, she'd get up from the table with a, "You have to fuck me. Right now."

We didn't even make it to the bedroom. She just got naked and bent herself over the table. I'd never look at that table the same way again. Unless we fucked on it in some other way…

I could barely function as it was. Functioning with a constant hard-on was just completely unproductive. Not that constant sex wasn't productive—I was glad that she was so happy, and excited, and that she was finally getting what she should have a long time ago.

I was blissfully happy. But I also had to function at work at least in a minimal capacity, and I had to be out in public occasionally.

She actually interrupted two meals, which was just amusing to me.

I'd gotten home before she had, and I made a sandwich because I hadn't known what time she was going to be done with work. So I was literally taking the second bite of the sandwich when she walked in.

"Hey."

"Hi. What are you doing right now?"

"I'm eating a sandwich." I thought that was fairly obvious, what with the bread and everything.

"K. Good. Come fuck me." She cocked her head so that I'd follow.

"Um."

"Now." She called from the bedroom.

"Ok." I put the sandwich down and by the time I got to the bedroom—naked again. Waiting.

We sort of threw preamble out the door with these quicker ones where I was just ordered to fuck her. I had no complaints and she got awfully impatient. My fingers were in her the minute I was next to her.

"Fuck that. Just get your cock in me."

I placated her by keeping her mouth occupied while I fingered her, and the rest was thankfully taken care of with the lubed condom. "I'm not just gonna fuck you dry."

She arched up at me. "Fuck, I'm so not dry. Hurry up."

We had more quickies this week than we ever had before. Impatience was prevalent when we spent, like, more than two hours apart. We wound up fucking twice.

"Sorry I jumped you while you were eating your sandwich."

I laughed. "You can jump me any time you like."

"You taste like peanut butter."

"Well you'd know, I think your tongue was halfway down my throat that second time. You taste better than peanut butter."

"Aww. You're so sweet."

I chuckled again, but I was pretty sure she was serious.

"You can go back to your sandwich now. I'll be ok for a while. A few minutes at least. I'll let you finish the sandwich for sure."

Of course when I actually started eating the sandwich again, all I could smell on my fingers was her which just meant I got hard instantly. I left her in bed, but I was back in the room without finishing the rest of the sandwich. She was picking up clothes from the floor and half bent over when I got there. "Fuck."

"What?" She turned, completely immodest and I just… I loved that she was so comfortable with me, here.

"I gotta fuck you again."

She giggled. "Ok."

I tried to explain. "I…with the sandwich. You're all over my fingers and it's all I can—get on the bed."

She jumped on it and bounced once before landing and basically spreading for me. "I'm still wet…"

I wasn't sure I was going to survive this week. Either I was gonna pass out from exhaustion, or…that wasn't even taking into account what it meant at the end of the week. God, I was just gonna be hard for the rest of my entire life basically.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	38. Chapter 38

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

**********************The second part of this chapter should be up in a few days!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

* * *

**APOV**

That cliché thing about being a sex-starved nymphomaniac that I thought about during our week off? I think I pretty much proved it right during the week when we went back to work. And… I think I found my first kink. I wasn't even sure it was one, or could be considered one, but if it was, I so fucking had it.

I hadn't really even—it wasn't something that I really thought _a lot_ about. I mean, I thought about certain things with Tyler, or I wondered about what certain things would be like, but it wasn't like I had a whole plan for things I wanted to check off a list. I sort of just wanted to let things happen. Really, I was happy with whatever we did…until I basically got on all fours in front of him and told him to take me from behind. Thinking back, it was only because he was a dumbass that didn't tell me when things were hurting him that made it happen. It sort of just made sense for that position to work because he wouldn't be keeping all of our weight in that scrunched position. But once I had the idea, I really wanted it. I wanted to know what it would feel like with him.

I'd been fucked that way before of course, but again, it was always just a part of the job. I didn't do it to have the _experience_ of it; it was just because that's what the guy wanted or what would get him off. It was usually over pretty quick, and it felt as good as anything else did or could.

From Tyler's first push in, I was sold. I was sold even before that because he was sort of just waiting there, probably shocked that I'd just backed up and offered myself this way, but then he went all _Tyler_ on me. I loved his hands, and I loved feeling them on me. The way his touch was sort of cautious, but never unsure—if that even made any sense. He touched me like he wanted to memorize me, like he didn't want to miss anything. The ends of his fingertips were always rougher than the rest of his hands because he chewed on the skin there and it left them sort of chapped. When he ran his hands over me, over my back, the snag every so often when the rough part would catch was just incredibly—I can't even describe what it feels like. The touch was so light, but enough to feel, and it was always like I could still feel his hands there when he moved them somewhere else. I felt—it was the amount of _care_ and _attention_ that always amazed me, shocked my system. And I felt like I had Tyler's respect along with his care. There wasn't much respect of anything when sex was your job.

The care and attention and his hands and the way he kissed my back was enough to pretty much set me off, and he hadn't even gotten inside of me yet. The angle and the way his cock pushed against my spot, and the feeling of his hands on my hips, pulling me back into him, because he was so gentle, it was just—I couldn't even think. It wasn't even like he hadn't fucked me this way before—I just hadn't been kneeling then, and it always felt amazing, but maybe it was the way we were positioned here, or the suggestion of the position. Because I was the one that asked for it—told him to do it—like it was a complete reversal of what this position had always been before Tyler.

I was so loud. Like, so _fucking_ loud. I couldn't even stop it. It just came out. Every time he pushed in, every time the angle made him rub inside me so perfectly, I pretty much came right away. And then again. I came twice and he hadn't come at all; it was sort of ridiculous how good this felt. He was so good at it. I was so good at taking it. I couldn't even stay on all fours. I wound up with my ass in the air pressing into him, my head on the fucking bed, and I didn't care. It felt so good, I didn't even fucking care.

And after that, I sort of kept demanding he fuck me that way. I totally became the girl who couldn't bend over fast enough. I made him stop eating twice to fuck me. Once we never even made it to the bedroom; I just bent over the table and he fucked me there. I was finding all sorts of new places to bend over. When I wasn't insisting he fuck me from behind, we were still fucking other ways. If there was a record to break, I think we officially broke it. I sort of felt like a different sort of junkie—a sex-crazed, horny junkie—and a really demanding one, too. Good thing Tyler took my demands well.

~ooOoo~

Going back to work was really annoying because it meant there had to be hours-long breaks in our sex life. Forced breaks. It seemed so wrong. The only perk was that because I was still bruised, Anatoly basically told me I wasn't allowed to strip and kept me behind the bar and working tables, which meant that my hours were slightly more regular than if I was stripping. He was really incredibly nice to me, and probably more so than anyone else. I could work the earlier shift, and be home by an earlier time at night, instead of rolling in to a sleeping Tyler at two or three in the morning.

It should also be recorded that when you were a stripper, and you didn't actually strip, your tips fucking sucked. And that was even with Anatoly giving me his, too. He was a boss, so it wasn't like he needed tip money, and I dunno—it seemed like he always looked out for me. I didn't really know why, because he wasn't that understanding with other people. Maybe it was because he was the only one that had a family. He had a little girl, but she was tiny yet. So maybe he was nicer to me because he knew I didn't have any family.

"You seem…happier, katyonak." Anatoly said a couple nights ago.

I was wiping down the bar, but I was totally thinking about Tyler, so I was probably smiling like a complete fucking fool. I didn't answer right away.

"You've never enjoyed cleaning. And you haven't even called me any names tonight. I'm worried."

I snorted, and grinned at him, shrugging. "I am happy."

"That's good. May I ask why? A mugging doesn't seem like a good reason to be happy. You didn't get hit on the head, did you, koteek?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm ok. Um." I took a deep breath. "I don't want this getting around."

His eyebrows rose. "And you think you can't trust me with a secret?"

"It's not a secret. I just don't want it… It's just mine."

He nodded. "Done."

"I sort of started seeing someone."

"Who someone?"

Too much information was probably not a good idea here. I didn't want him to suddenly show up at Tyler's apartment and give him the third degree. Lord knows what they were really capable of. "His name is Tyler."

"And Tyler makes you happy?"

"Yes, Tyler makes me very happy."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Tyler is not the one responsible for the mugging, is he?"

"No, he got mugged, too. He looks worse than I do."

"What does Tyler do?"

Jesus. "He's a student. And he works at a bookstore."

"Which bookstore?"

"You are not allowed to find him and scare the shit out of him. I'm not telling you shit."

"I think you should bring this Tyler around so I can meet him."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I think it's a very good idea."

"I don't think he'd enjoy coming to this place."

"Why?"

"Because I strip here, Anatoly."

"Hmm. We'll talk about this later."

He walked to the end of the bar. My best guess was that he was going to have Misha do…whatever it was that Misha really did and they'd be scouring the entire city for every Tyler they could find. I'd probably have to talk to Tyler about this now. Maybe being all up front about shit was better.

Jordan cornered me the same night. I wasn't even sure it was her shift, but we'd texted a few times and she checked in to make sure I was ok. "All right. Spill. Out with it."

"What?"

"You haven't been home all week."

"Yeah, I've been at Tyler's."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, _obviously_. You don't need clothes? You don't need any of your shit?"

Not lately. Haven't need clothes much at all, in fact. "I have stuff there. And Tyler lets me borrow whatever I want. I'll probably stop by the apartment tomorrow or the next day."

She watched me a minute.

"What?" Her hand banged on the bar loudly and Anatoly's head jerked in our direction. "The fuck?"

She looked really pleased with herself, smug even. "You're totally fucking him, aren't you?"

"Jesus." Was I really _that_ obvious? Eh, fuck it. I sighed, wiping at a spot in the bar I'd already wiped about four times. "Am I that obvious?"

"Oh, my God, you are _so_ fucking obvious right now."

"Keep your voice down!"

"Why? It's not like the other girls care you're fucking somebody."

"I just don't want it, like, _out_ everywhere."

"Why?"

"'Cause it's just mine. It's none of their business."

"You're enjoying yourself then, I take it?" It wasn't really a question. And she was back to the smug smirking.

I was rather smug myself. "I'm enjoying the fuck out of it, which, ya know… It's the fucking I'm enjoying." I waved it off. "I don't even know how to—yeah, I'm really enjoying myself."

She looked genuinely happy for me. I was sort of surprised. Exactly what _did_ they talk about to make her this happy for me, and not all bitchy and concerned? "Good. I'm really glad."

"You are? Really?"

She nodded. "Really. He's a decent guy."

"He is?" I mean, I knew he was, but…seriously? Not just happy for me, but _he's a decent guy_?

"Yeah. He is. He cares about you. And he treats you right. That makes him pretty decent."

"The fuck did you guys talk about in that hospital?" I had to ask. It just flew out.

"We just reached an understanding, I think."

"That's _exactly_ what he said. What the fuck does that mean?"

She shrugged. "Just that I didn't realize he was that serious about you."

"_Hey_! That reminds me. What the fuck is this bullshit about Tyler and I weren't supposed to stay together like you just expected me to fail at it. Like I couldn't make it work."

"Oh, Jesus. He told you that?"

"Yes! He told me that. He thought it was funny. He actually totally saved your ass 'cause I was kinda really pissed about it."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I know. But that's the way it sounded to me. I told you, Tyler saved your ass."

"See? Decent."

"Yeah. You're lucky he is."

"I'm glad you're happy. My shift starts in a few, I gotta go get ready, but I better get details soon, girl."

"We'll see."

"Sure, you finally get a decent boyfriend, and now you're gonna withhold all the great, juicy details. Figures." She sighed. "Don't be a stranger. I miss you. You can bring the boy, ya know."

"Yeah, I know. We've just sort of been…"

"Fucking like bunnies?"

I laughed. "Kinda, yeah."

"Good for you. When you come up for air, stop by. Or just make sure your door is closed."

"Yeah, we will. I'll talk to you later."

"Later."

~ooOoo~

It wasn't even eleven yet when I got to Tyler's apartment. He was reading in his bedroom, but I grabbed the book and flung it on the floor the second I got in there, hauling him to his feet while kissing him.

He pulled back. "Hey, before I forget, my mom called today and wanted to know if I could hang out with Caroline tomorrow. She's got some work thing and Les is out of town. She was gonna drop her off before she had to leave. I think she'll be here around ten or a little later. I guess she doesn't have school tomorrow for some reason. You wanna hang out with us?"

"Yeah, sure, of course."

"I was thinking maybe we could go to Central Park. She likes it there."

"Yeah, that sounds great."

What made this entire conversation hilarious was that we were both totally undressing each other at the time. I was surprised we were able to carry on the whole thing. His shirt was unbuttoned, jeans ready to come off; I was pretty much the same.

"Good."

I shoved his shirt off of his shoulders. "I've been thinking about you all night."

"Me, too."

"You seemed pretty comfy with your book."

"Just trying to distract myself. I can only beat off so much, ya know."

I giggled. And bent over on the bed. What can I say? Kinks have needs.

~ooOoo~

It was morning before we actually had another conversation. "Hey, how was work?" Tyler asked me, stretching for a second, but spooning me again when he was done. "I didn't get a chance to ask last night."

I giggled. "No, we don't have a lot of time for that at the moment. It was good. It was kind of odd, but good."

"Why odd?"

"Well, because apparently the fact that we're fucking and I'm happy about it is written all over my face. There might as well be a neon sign over my head."

He chuckled. "People have been telling me that all week, too. I didn't know I was such a moody, sullen bastard before."

"Yeah, seriously. Anatoly wants to meet you," I threw out there quickly.

"Um. Why?"

"Because I told him about you. A little bit. Only enough information to get him to back off. He probably can't find you on his own yet."

"He _probably_ can't find me?"

"Well, I mean, he is the mob."

"Great. That's just great. Now I've got the Russian mafia after me."

I chuckled. "It's fine. I told him he wasn't allowed to find you. It might be better if you just go meet him though."

"Sure, throw myself out in the open. I thought you liked having sex with me."

I turned in his arms. "I dooooo. I dooooo like having sex with you. I'm not going to let him break your knees or whatever else he might have in mind. I think he wants to know that you're a good guy. He sorta looks out for me. I think because I don't have family. He's taken that responsibility or something."

"Can't you just tell him I'm a good guy?"

"I did tell him that actually. But I think he needs to figure that out himself before he believes it."

"Fuck. I think that's almost scarier than meeting a girl's parents. Here—meet my boss, the Russian Mafioso. So much pressure. The only thing that could be worse is if he _was _your family. I'd be toast for sure then."

I laughed at him again. "Don't worry about it. It'll all be fine."

"Good, because otherwise you'd have to find yourself another sex partner. I mean, think of all the wasted time here. All that energy. That would be so sad."

"I would be sad. For a while at least."

"A while?! That's it? How long is a while?"

I shrugged in his arms. "Like, at least a few days. I mean, I'm kinda horny now. I'd have to find someone quick."

"You're sort of blowing this whole plan for me meeting the mob. I have zero incentive now."

"Maybe if you play your cards right, I'll blow you before you meet him."

"Well, if you're going to sweeten the pot, then we might be able to talk about it more."

"Yeah? You think?" I kissed him. "You think we can talk about it more later? 'Cause I'd like if your dick was in me instead right now."

He sighed and was really whiny. "God, you never want to talk anymore. You just want me for my dick, don't you? Can't we fool around? Make out? What happened to foreplay?"

I giggled at him, because he was teasing me, but we really didn't have a lot of foreplay lately. I pulled the covers up, looked down for a second and then grabbed his dick.

"Is that a no to foreplay?"

"No, I was just checking to make sure your dick didn't disappear during the night, because you just sounded like a chick."

He tickled me. "Sure, poke fun at my romantic gesture."

"That was supposed to be romantic? That whiny bullshit?"

He rolled us, pinning me beneath him, and he was smiling at me, but then his mouth covered mine, and fuck, yeah. I mean, sure, I missed the foreplay sometimes, but I was much more excited about the actual act of sex at the moment. It wasn't like we had _zero_ foreplay now, it was just…shorter. His kiss though—this one—was the kind that I could get lost in. The kind that had me moaning into his mouth two seconds later. And then we were pretty much making out. Until I reached for him again, and started stroking him. Then he got all panty and he was having trouble focusing on the actual making out.

He rested his forehead against mine for a second, just letting me stroke him. He sort of growled at me, which was way fucking sexy. "All right, fine. Turn over."

I giggled again, and pushed him off, scrambling to my knees, watching him get a condom from the drawer.

We actually sort of had this down to a science now. I would assume the position, Tyler would condom-it-up, line up and be pushing into me within a few seconds. And I'd be halfway to orgasm shortly after. This time was no different. He was kneeling behind me, and I was already gripping the sheets while he fucked me, loving the way it felt when he'd push in and move us both. It always felt _so _good.

I didn't notice until it was almost all the way open, and was going to bitch out Aidan for interrupting, when suddenly Caroline was standing in the doorway.

It was sort of one of those slow-motion moments, but everything was really happening super-fast. There was this chaotic moment where both Tyler and I were saying each other's names, Caroline's name, and lots of swearing while we broke away from each other and started grabbing any piece of clothing within reach. When we both looked to the door again, it was closed, and she was gone.

Tyler stood there for a second, like he was wondering if that really happened and then it started. "Fuck. Aw, _fuck_. Fucking hell. I don't even… _Fuck_. That shouldn't have… Oh my fucking _God_, my mother is going to kill me." We both finished with the clothing. "What time is it?!"

"It's not even nine yet."

"What the _fuck_ was she thinking!? She said ten. My mother said _ten_."

"Well she doesn't know you have a girlfriend."

"So!? She should know better! She shouldn't have just dropped her off."

"Would it have been better if you mother had walked in?" I sort of wanted to laugh, but he _so_ wouldn't take that well right now.

"No! But she probably wouldn't have. Or she would have knocked. Why didn't she knock!? Jesus Christ."

I was going to ask if she'd done that before; just opened his door and came right in, but he wasn't mad at Caroline, he was just mad at himself, and that probably wouldn't have been taken well right now either. "Tyler." I grabbed his hands, which were nearly tearing his hair out or rubbing his face off alternately. "Just fucking chill out."

"Chill out? _Chill out?!_" His voice kept getting higher like a little kid, but he was trying to be quiet, too, so it was like a hoarse whisper that kept getting higher. "Are you fucking crazy? Chill out!? My sister just walked in on us fucking! That is so not ok. That is so not 'chill out' material. I've just scarred my sister irreparably for life. And you can forget about me ever having a life, because I'm going to be fucking—my mother will probably have me thrown in jail or something. Or I'll never see Caroline again. I'll be barred from the house." He started pacing. "She'll probably have the security codes changed and I won't be allowed within in 500 feet of their residence. I'll never see her graduate from that pretentious school. I won't see her graduate high school. Won't know where she's going to college because no one will tell me. I'll never see her get married. She probably just ran out of the apartment screaming and is halfway to Brooklyn by now and I'll—"

I grabbed him by the shoulders and then held his face in my hands. "Tyler. Honey. You have to calm down. And stop all that fucking bullshit. Nothing is going to happen. Everything will be fine. Sit the fuck down."

He sat obediently because I don't think he knew what else to do. "Now. You're going to sit here and you're going to breathe, ok? And I'm going to go out in the living room and talk to Caroline."

"What if she's—"

"She's fine. I know she's fine. She's not five, Tyler. She's twelve. She's had Sex Ed. It's not like she doesn't know what we were doing. And we're adults. So just try not to have a heart attack or a stroke while I'm gone. Ok?"

He nodded, chewing his thumbnail and then the skin on the sides. I pulled his hand away and his face up, making him look me in the eye. "Everything will be fine. Ok? You have to calm down."

"Yeah, ok." He nodded shakily, and he so wasn't going to be ok, but I had to talk to Caroline anyway. "Are you sure I shouldn't talk to her?"

"Do you want to?"

"I don't even know what to say."

"Then let me talk to her first at least."

"What are you gonna say?"

"I dunno. I'll come up with something."

He ran his hand over his face again, scrubbing. "Fuck. I should just go talk to her."

"Just give me a few minutes, ok?"

"Yeah, ok."

~ooOoo~

She was right in the living room where I figured she would be. Sitting on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table, drawing. I mean, I didn't exactly know what I was going to say, but Tyler was so beyond handling this right now. I sat in the chair next to the table and blew out a breath, taking a deep one after.

"Hey, Caroline."

"Hi, Allison."

"So. Um." God. Great fucking start. Where did I even start? "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok. Are you?"

Aww. I nodded. "Yeah, I'm good." I jerked my head in the direction of the bedroom. "I don't think your brother is though."

Caroline stopped drawing for a second. "Yeah, I heard him saying the f-word a lot."

I didn't want to laugh at her, but I thought it was really fucking funny that she knew he was upset by his colorful language, and seemed so concerned about _that_, but really didn't seem to be upset at all by walking in to her brother plowing into me.

She was also not necessarily a typical twelve-year-old. She wasn't street-wise. She went to private school. Not exactly ideal conditions to be getting the skinny on sex in the back of the bus. And definitely not my experience at all. I wasn't even sure she knew exactly what had happened. I didn't want to insult her either. "I don't want this to sound like I think you don't know, but…do you know what you saw when you walked in the bedroom?"

"Sex?" she asked it more than answered really.

"Yeah, we were having sex."

"I didn't know people did it that way."

"Yeah they do it that way sometimes. There are lots of different ways." That was probably enough elaboration for now. "Do you have any questions?" I just figured, why the fuck not ask her that? It's not like I had to beat around the bush here; the kid knew what was happening now for sure. I'm sure her mother had "the talk" with her already. And if not, well, this was her chance to ask an expert. I wondered if his mother had given Tyler the talk.

Caroline was shading something in, and she did that for at least half a minute. I was starting to think maybe she was having some sort of problem processing it or something, or she was avoiding it, but I think she was just trying to think of shit to ask me really.

She put the pencil down slowly and then looked up at me. "Does it hurt?"

I smiled. That was not exactly what I expected for the first question, but it was probably the one that most kids wondered about. "Well, the first time it can. After that, not usually." Not if it's good anyway. She didn't need to know that part yet though.

"Is it fun?"

"Yeah, it's fun." I nodded. Then thought maybe I shouldn't give her a… She was still young, too young. I didn't want her to think it was something to start just because it was fun. "Um, I mean, I think it's better when you're older."

"My mom says you should only have sex with someone when you love them."

Oh shit. I chuckled. "Well, I'm sure your mom wants you to be careful about who you sleep with. And sex is a big deal, you know? You don't have to—sometimes people just have sex and don't really even know each other." I thought I should probably add to that. "I'm not saying you should do that, but I'm just saying that people do that. They don't have to be in a relationship. Sometimes it just happens. I think it's better when you're with someone, when you know them better."

Caroline nodded. "Does that mean that you love Tyler?"

Ok. That one I had no fucking clue how to answer. "I… I care about your brother a lot. Probably more than I have any other person. He makes me happy. Really happy. I feel safe with him and he's never hurt me. He's really the first boyfriend I've had. The first real one anyway. He makes me feel good, and I know he cares about me, too. He's really nice to me. I've never felt like this about anyone else before. Knowing I have him makes everything else better, too."

She was smirking at me. I wasn't sure why. "Is he good at it?"

I burst out laughing. Curious little girl. "Yeah, he's great at it. He's very…giving. And he was really patient. He's always great."

"How did you know you wanted to have sex with Tyler?"

I blew out another breath. She didn't really pull any punches. And this one I didn't really know how to answer. I mean I couldn't tell her about the landlord and what making the decision really meant to me. Or that for most of my life, sex had meant absolutely nothing to me. Well maybe I could try to tell her that part. "Well…for a long time, I didn't care about who I had sex with. It didn't mean anything to me. Tyler is the first person that made me want to have sex for me, too. It was something I wanted to share with him. And I sort of just made the decision. I don't think there's really one way or time when you know. I just knew when the time was right."

Tyler picked that minute to open the door and walk out basically looking like a complete mess. He was still fucking up his hair and I could tell he probably spent the last however many minutes pacing and wondering what the fuck I was telling her. I could tell he was also really embarrassed, and maybe it was because I wasn't related to her, or I had less modesty or something, but I wasn't embarrassed at all. We hadn't done anything wrong. She just picked a bad time to open that door. It's not like we intended for her to see that. Maybe it was a brother thing. Like he thought he let her down or something. I smiled at him, trying to tell him that things were ok, but he just gave me a short, nervous half-smile before his face went back to completely worried and torn. His hand skimmed over my shoulders before he passed me and sat heavily on the couch next to where Caroline was sitting on the floor.

"Hey, maestro."

"Hi."

"You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She looked back and him. "How're you?"

Ha. So polite.

He was so nervous. I don't think I'd seen him this nervous since the night he came to my apartment to apologize. "Um. I'm ok." He glanced at me before looking back at her. "You sure you're ok?"

She rolled her eyes, and picked up her pencil again. "Yes, Tyler. I'm ok."

He looked over at me again and made that _what the fuck do I do now?_ gesture with his hands. I shook my head and just smiled at him. He scratched his head. "Did you have breakfast yet, maestro?"

"No."

"Great. Let's go out for breakfast." He got up off the couch, like, incredibly fast. "I'll get my shoes on." He was halfway to the bedroom when he turned. "Allison, your shoes are in here."

"Your brother said something about maybe going to the park today. You wanna do that?"

"Sure," Caroline said, excitedly nodding at me.

"K, we'll be back in a sec." He was pacing in the bedroom again when I got there, no shoes on yet. "What?"

"What did you say to her?"

"Nothing. We just talked. I just answered her questions."

"What kind of questions?!"

I giggled at him and put my arms around his waist. "Fucking hell, when did you get so uptight?"

"When my sister caught us fucking! That's when!"

"Shh! She already knows you were upset. Which, completely hilariously she seemed more worried about than actually catching us fucking."

"God, I'm such a horrible role model."

Aww. He was beating himself up about this way too much. "Tyler, it's fine. She's ok. She's not mad or damaged or anything else. And you're not a horrible role model. Not at all. You're a great role model. She adores you."

"My mother is going to kill me."

"She's not going to kill you. I really don't think Caroline is going to say anything. We're adults, Tyler."

He sighed. "Yeah. Let's just go to breakfast." We broke away to get our shoes.

"I could have made breakfast, you know."

"Yeah. I think it's better if we just leave the scene of the crime here."

I shook my head at him. "You are being so ridiculous."

He grabbed my hand as we left the bedroom. "You ready, maestro?"

"Yep. Where are we going for breakfast?"

"Where do you wanna go?"

"I dunno."

I pulled on his hand. "She likes Tick Tock, right? That's on the way."

He squeezed my hand. "Yeah, she does."

"Tick Tock?!" Caroline was way excited now. "Can we?"

"Yeah, sure. Grab your stuff."

She bounded down the stairs excitedly and I was pretty sure she was skipping down the sidewalk. When we stopped to wait for the subway, I bent down. "You know he feels really guilty. You should really milk this for all it's worth. I'm just sayin'…"

She gave me what I would call 'the nod,' like we had some code and she was full-on going to follow it now. And I kind of admit, watching him squirm and being all concerned that he'd damaged her in some way was too good to pass up. It didn't happen often. He was always pretty cool about things.

She waited until we got on the train to start. "Tyler can I have pancakes?" Oh, that was good. So innocent a start.

"Sure."

She waited a while and then added, "And eggs?"

"Sure."

"And bacon?"

"Of course. I love bacon."

"And sausage?"

"Sure, if you want."

I had all to do not to start laughing. She was a master at this, and didn't ask for anything else until we were back on the street. "Tyler, can I have a milkshake, too?"

"For breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"Um, sure. I guess."

"Do they have waffles?"

"You're pretty hungry this morning."

"Well, I've had a lot…to deal with."

He closed his eyes for a second. "Yeah, right, of course. You can have whatever you want, ok?"

She giggled. She let him off waaaay too easily. "Ok, so you do realize I know what sex is, right?"

He stopped walking. Like legit just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "I… Yeah. I mean, I didn't… I never wanted to think about that before, but yes, I realize that now. Do you realize that you're my little sister and it's extremely awkward for me to explain or feel like I haven't completely fu—screwed you up?"

"Pfffft. Please. Tyler. I'm not _five_. I've had Sex Ed, and mom has _totally_ already covered this. And Allison answered the rest." And she started walking again. I laughed right out loud and pulled on his hand.

"You told her to do that didn't you? Before we got on the train. Didn't you?"

He was smiling though. I shrugged. "Maybe. Girl has gotta take her chances when she can. She could have totally kept going actually. She had you. She could have gotten way more stuff."

He sighed. "Yeah, she totally could have. She's just too…moral."

I laughed. "I don't have those hang-ups."

"Well, you're older."

"You can work on corrupting her more. This was a good start."

He pulled me back, wrapping his arm around my waist. "That was so mean." He tickled me until I pushed away from him and ran up to walk with Caroline, dodging him when he tried it again. She beamed while she watched us. I think that meant I had some sort of approval.

~ooOoo~

She got pancakes and waffles, with eggs, and bacon, and sausage, and a vanilla milkshake for breakfast, and I was so…proud, that she totally followed through with it. I think he was surprised, but also kinda proud that maybe that whole mischief thing really was genetic. He was also a complete pushover when it came to her. It was incredibly sweet.

I could tell she was completely stuffed when we were leaving. Tyler teased her on the way out. "You sure you don't want anything else? Burger maybe? Fries? Another waffle?"

I giggled when her response was, "Maybe in an hour or so."

He smiled at me and grabbed my hand. "So we going to the park?"

"Yeah, walking will be good," Caroline agreed.

"Yeah, you can walk off some of breakfast before you start on lunch."

"Exactly."

I laughed. She was a lot like her brother. We subway-ed it closer and I think by the time we got to the park, Caroline had an entire route planned out.

"Have you ever been to the park before?"

"Not really. I mean, we've never really taken the time to explore it or anything. It's hard to miss; we know it's here, but we never really get on this side of town much."

She was about a hundred times more excited now. "Great! We can show you all the really cool stuff!"

Tyler groaned dramatically. "Just promise me we're not going to the MET. We'll _never_ get out of there."

She really wasn't paying attention to him, but responded, "Ugh. Of course we're not. She wouldn't see the park then."

He snickered. "Right. My mistake."

We entered the park "via Grand Army Plaza." She actually said it that way: "via." Then she pointed out statues of some newspaper dude whose name started with pew-something and some other soldier guy that had an Indian—I was corrected to "Native American" middle name—and she sounded like a tour guide. It had to be genetic.

We passed some playgrounds and I asked her if she wanted to stop.

"Mmm… No." She seemed kind of uncertain though, like she wanted to. I glanced at Tyler, but he seemed to be staying out of it.

"Too old for that?"

"No…"

"Then what's the problem? We should totally go check out those swings."

"I don't really… I don't…relate very well to other kids my age. Mostly they think I'm weird."

"Pfft. I've been weird my whole life, and have you _met_ your brother?" I jerked a thumb at him, squeezing his other hand that was still holding mine. "It's probably his fault. It's genetic."

"Yeah, it's probably my fault," he agreed.

"Why do you care anyway? We can still go play. If they don't like it, they can just fuck right off."

Tyler pulled on my hand.

"What?!"

His eyebrows rose.

"Oh." I suddenly realized. "They can screw right off," I corrected.

Caroline laughed.

I looked back at Tyler. "You swear all the time!"

"I try not to around Caroline."

She made a noise. "You know, I _can_ control myself. It's not like just because you say it, I'm going to go home and swear at mom."

I shot him a look that was the equivalent of sticking my tongue out.

"I still try not to," Tyler said, shrugging.

"You swore a lot this morning," Caroline added.

"Oh, Jesus. Come on!"

I busted up laughing. Caroline looked off at the playground once more. "Maybe later." And then took my other hand. I was surprised with how happy that made me. Her hand was so tiny compared to Tyler's.

~ooOoo~

We skipped the zoo because Caroline didn't like them. "The animals never look happy no matter how 'natural' their habitats are."

Also, this park was fucking huge. Seriously fucking huge. We walked forever, and I think you could probably live in this city your whole life and not see everything in this park. There were tons of statues of people I didn't know, and names to everything that Caroline just pointed out and rolled onto the next one, and I don't think I was retaining much information. I remember something being called "The Mall," because that was a normally-named thing, and there were lots of little lakes and ponds and bridges and more grass than any other place in the city, and it was a lot to take in.

"Oh! This is one of my favorite places! Tyler and I come here all the time," Caroline announced, pulling on my hand.

"You'll like this one," Tyler said quietly, and I glanced at him before we came around the path to a giant statue of _Alice in Wonderland_.

Caroline let go of my hand and ran up ahead, climbing up on the statue that already had a few kids doing the same thing.

"Allison Wonderland," Tyler provided.

I don't think I said anything right away. It was sort of the last thing I expected to see in the park, but it seemed to follow me everywhere now.

"S'weird, right?" Tyler said smiling at me.

"The statue?" I wasn't entirely following.

"That I came here all the time before I knew you." He shrugged as we kept walking. "Very fitting now."

"Fitting how?"

He sighed. "I dunno. I don't want to get all philosophical and weird."

"Right, because you never do that."

He smirked at me, squeezing my hand. "I just think it's interesting that I spent a lot of time here before and it wound up to be a symbol of something that meant a lot to you, that's all."

"You're such a dork," I said, smiling at him. "But you're cute, so I'll keep you."

Caroline picked that time to run back to us because apparently we weren't getting there fast enough. "Come _on_!" She grabbed my hand again and dragged me towards the statue.

"This is really great, Caroline. I love _Alice in Wonderland_."

She was practically beaming. "You do?"

"Yeah, I loved it as a kid. I thought her name was Allison for the longest time. _Allison Wonderland_."

"That does sound a lot alike."

"I was really bummed when I realized her name was Alice."

"Allison's a better name anyway." Tyler climbed up and sat next to the white rabbit, lighting a cigarette.

Caroline made a noise of disgust. "I thought you were going to quit. You keep telling me you're going to quit, Tyler." I couldn't decide if there was more disgust or disappointment in her voice. Probably disappointment.

"I know, maestro, I know. I'm sorry. I'll work on it."

"Yeah, Tyler, you should really quit," I echoed, winking at him. "That shit's really bad for you."

He squinted at me, but there was the hint of a smile, too. "Are you trying to make points? Because I think she already likes you."

"I do," Caroline nodded, sitting just far enough away from us that the smoke didn't come near her.

He waited until she started climbing around the statue again and then fucking pinched me. "Ow!"

"I totally could have told her you're a smoker, too. Could have ruined your whole image."

"I've been good!"

He blew out the smoke quickly. "Bullshit you've been good. You're a chain smoker after sex."

Well, he had me there. "Only then!"

"It counts!"

"What counts?" Caroline asked.

"Nothing," I said quickly. "The smoke's going to his head. Ignore him completely."

"Ok."

I smirked at Tyler while he chuckled. I think he kind of liked being ganged up on by the two of us. He stubbed the cigarette out on the rabbit's hat. "Wow, you're such a rebel. Using a statue as your ashtray and clearing it of all other children. Pretty badass, Tyler."

He curled a finger at me. "C'mere."

As we pretty much had the entire statue to ourselves, I had no problem scooting over to sit next to him. Caroline seemed to be amusing herself with the climbing for the moment, so I didn't think we had to worry too much about her when he started kissing me.

And the problem with him kissing me…even though they were gentle kisses, I wanted more. I wanted it to keep going. Kissing was like a fast track to sex is on—that would be really inappropriate on the _Alice in Wonderland_ statue, and we'd already been caught once by his sister today. I pulled back a little, but he just followed me, his tongue pushing into my mouth and making me just want to melt back into him. So I did again for a while, pushing my tongue against his and nipping at his lip, and then pulled back. But the fucker just kept his mouth coming at me again, and as the kisses kept deepening, and I found myself not really caring that we were out in public anymore, or that Caroline could be feet away. And before I really knew it, I was totally palming him through his jeans, and a half a second away from climbing in his lap.

He pushed me back a little. "Whoa, baby, we can't…"

K, now I was pissed. "Well then why the fuck were you kissing me like that?"

His brow furrowed. "Because I like kissing you?"

"Yeah, but we're in public."

"Yeah…" he trailed off.

"So you can't be kissing me like that and not expect me to get turned on! Then don't fucking tease me like that."

His head actually jerked back. "I… I wasn't teasing you."

"Then what would you call that?"

"A public display of affection?"

I was sort of hushed-yelling at him, and I was all turned on and now I had no outlet for it and I didn't understand what the fuck he was even talking about. "How is sticking your tongue in my mouth a display of affection?"

He blinked. "Ok. I mean, you can get turned on by it. I get turned on by you all the time. But it doesn't have to mean we're going to have sex right then."

"Why would we not have sex when we're turned on?"

"Well, because we can have sex any time we want to. There's not, like, an expiration on it. We don't have to have sex right away just because we're kissing. We can let it settle and have sex later. Sometimes it's not appropriate right at that minute. But I'm not teasing you. I wouldn't do that."

I thought about that for a minute. I _really_ didn't know that I liked that answer at all. I understood what he was saying. I believed him when he said he wasn't deliberately teasing me. But… "That just fucking sucks," I finally settled on.

He chuckled quietly. "Well, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it's not always appropriate to have sex on command. But that also doesn't mean we can't kiss and turn each other on just because we can't have sex right then. Sometimes the waiting makes it better, too."

"Ugh. Don't even start spouting that shit." I moved a few inches away from him. "Ugh. Don't even talk to me right now."

That quiet little chuckle came out again, and he moved right back to me, putting his arm around me and pulling me in like I was gonna cave, and of course, I fucking did, because he was all sun-warm and squinting at me, and _so _annoyingly _reasonable_. "Allison." He pressed a kiss to my cheek.

"Stop with the kissing already, asshole."

"It's not possible for us to have sex 24/7."

"Coulda fooled me."

He laughed. "Come on. Seriously. But that doesn't mean we can't be affectionate in between."

"I don't like affection in between then." I was pouting. Completely.

"You do. You will."

"Whatever."

He squeezed me tighter and I sighed dramatically, because it was such a fucking lame-o, stupid-ass way to have affection with no sex.

He smartly didn't try to say anything else—just let me pout while I let him _affectionately _hold onto me. Stupid fucking affection.

"Were you having sex that one time at the Christmas party?" Caroline suddenly asked, just… right there.

"What?!" Tyler looked…_horrified_ was the only word I could come up with. He moved away from me a little, his hand still on my back; his face was priceless.

"That Christmas party, like…two years ago? You came out of the closet a few seconds before that one girl that worked with mom came out. You were buckling your belt when you came out, and I thought that was weird. Were you having sex in mom's closet?"

What made it hilarious was that her questions were _so_ innocent and matter-of-fact. She asked them like she would have asked if it was sunny out today. There wasn't any judgment behind it, it was pure curiosity.

Tyler had gone white. Like…seriously white. If we would have been standing, I think he might have passed out. I could tell whatever she was asking was slowly clicking into place, and then he did this quick eye-jerk to me, and then realized he had to answer her, and I was trying _so_ hard not to laugh. This was totally making up for not being able to have sex with him after kissing.

He cleared his throat, and shook his head. "No, I wasn't having sex in mom's closet. We were… Well, we weren't… I wasn't having sex in mom's closet."

I started giggling, I couldn't help myself.

"You already said that," Caroline added.

"Right. No. We…" He scrubbed a hand over his face and totally said 'fuck' under his breath. "Do you know what making out is?"

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Of course I know what making out is. You were just making out with Allison."

I was biting my lip, but a tiny bit of laugher just burst out. I couldn't help it. "So this is a habit with you, huh?"

Tyler sighed, frustrated. "Ok, look—first of all, Allison and I were just kissing. Just kissing. That's all. The girl at the Christmas party…we were doing a lil more than kissing. We were making out in the closet." He fumbled for a second, his hand making this gesture to try to get the words right for a twelve-year-old. "Touching and stuff."

Caroline nodded. "Oh. Ok."

She seemed to accept that as a good enough answer and went around the other side of the statue.

Tyler looked like he was still kind of in shock. That she'd asked maybe, or that she'd caught him before, I wasn't sure, but I was finding it really funny anyway.

"Little public display of affection in the closet there, Tyler?"

His mouth pursed, but he was totally smiling. "A little, yeah."

"Did you just lie to your sister? Were you having sex in your mom's closet?"

"No… I didn't really lie. I wasn't having sex."

"She blew you in the closet, didn't she?"

"Yep."

I snorted. "At least Caroline didn't open the door a few minutes sooner."

He groaned. "God, I'm a horrible brother."

"Did you go down on her, too? Give her a little Christmas present?"

He scoffed. "No, she just blew me."

"Well, I don't get it then."

"What don't you get?"

"I thought you told me that if you got off, the girl always got off, too."

The white from before was totally replaced with red; even his ears were red. It was cute. "Well, they usually did. That was… It wasn't planned, and it kinda just happened. If we would have had more time…"

"Sure, sure. I get it. "

"I'm not like that anymore."

I smiled, and took his face in my hands and kissed him gently. "I know."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	39. Chapter 39

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**APOV**

Children had _a lot_ of fucking energy. Caroline was no exception; she had _a lot_ of fucking energy. We had lunch at the little snack bar across from the _Alice in Wonderland _statue, and then we basically ran all over the damn park. Ok, not the whole park, it was probably only a really small part, but it felt like the whole fucking thing. I wasn't used to this much…exercise, or whatever. Pretty much I had a lot of energy to fuck. That was the extent of my energy level recently.

And I kept thinking about Tyler's _we can't always have sex_ speech, and it just really started annoying me more. Because I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to wait with anything with him. He was so great—he was completely attentive and interested with Caroline, talking with her about something I wasn't really even taking in at the moment, and he didn't even seem to mind that she dragged us all over the whole park. I felt kinda bad that I wasn't listening, or wasn't exactly interested at the moment, but all I could think about was his mouth, and how much we could be having sex instead of affection in between if we were alone right now.

I finally sat down on a bench while they did something over by one of the million lakes/ponds in the park. She doubled over in giggles over something he said, and his face was so…happy with that simple thing—that he could make her laugh. His smile was wide, and easy, and it was seriously really sexy. His hair was all messy from the light breeze, and it looked much lighter and blonde out in the sun here. Even his scruffy beard looked blonder. I really wanted to just go rub my face against his…and then possibly shove his blonder scruff between my legs. God. I was such a fucking nympho; lusting over my boyfriend while he was being a good brother. I should have just been happy with the fact that she liked me so much. If I kept this up, this one-track mind about fucking Tyler all the time, I'd probably screw that up with her. I didn't want to do that—gaining trust back after disappointment was one of the hardest things to do.

Fuck it. I needed distraction. "I want ice cream," I called out. "You guys want ice cream?"

"Sure!" Caroline nodded. Tyler smiled gently at me, and nodded. I think he knew me well enough by now that I was getting slightly bored with this activity. I liked hanging out with Caroline; that wasn't it at all, and she didn't seem to notice that I was slightly less enthusiastic then I had been.

"What kind do you want?"

"Vanilla. In a dish!" Practical. Very Caroline-ish.

I let my eyebrows rise at Tyler, silently asking the same question.

"Surprise me."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Dork."

"We'll catch up in a minute."

I think he said that only for Caroline's benefit. He knew I needed some space at the moment. I didn't think they'd follow quickly. I ordered the ice cream, and watched as they walked in my direction, but the path was longer, and went past the restrooms. I started in that direction when I had the ice cream, and they were waiting for me on a bench near there. They hadn't seen me yet, and I slowed when I heard the question Caroline asked Tyler: "Did you want to have sex with the girl in the closet?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I did. But that's… It's different now. I didn't—I didn't care about the girl in the closet. Which isn't really a good thing either." He stopped, trying to figure out how to continue. "I mean, people do that, people have sex without it really meaning anything, but what I have with Allison is different. I wasn't in a relationship with the other girl. We'd just met. I didn't really know her at all."

"So why did you make out with her?"

I almost felt bad for Tyler. Almost. Fielding these questions while trying not to be a bad role model was really difficult. Not unlike me trying to give advice to someone. It wasn't like we didn't have huge black stains on our track records. We weren't exactly the poster-children for faithful relationships.

"Sometimes you just do things because they feel good."

"Oh."

"God, I shouldn't even be… You know all the stuff mom says about not having sex with someone unless you really care about them?" So she _did _have the talk with him at some point, too—or at least he knew what it was!

"Yeah."

"She's right. It's different when you care about someone. Allison is different. She's different form all the other girls I've dated or been with. I don't want to just feel good with her. I want more. It's not just physical."

Jesus Fucking Christ. There was no reason for him to be saying that for my benefit; he had no idea I was standing there listening. And it wasn't like I didn't believe him when he told me things…but it was still nice to hear the same things when he was being completely honest with someone else. It made my chest feel like it was burning, but in a good way.

I hadn't really meant to crash their conversation, but I felt kind of guilty now that I had—that wasn't really cool. So I moved out slowly until I was sure they could see me before we all moved to a table to eat the ice cream.

I realized the huge mistakes with ice cream cones the minute Tyler started eating his. This was not going to be a good distraction at all. It just drew more attention to his fucking mouth. And his tongue. And his lips. Fuck me sideways. I couldn't win.

Tyler's phone rang while we finished the ice cream. "Hi, mom."

"Hi, mom!" Caroline echoed.

"We're still at the park. Yeah. We can meet you, yeah. See you then." He stuck the phone back in his pocket. "We're gonna meet her at Strawberry Fields in a half hour."

At least this time no one would walk in on us fucking. That'd be a _great_ first impression for meeting his mother. Christ. It just dawned on me—his mother was picking her up!? What was the worst possible impression (other than her walking in on you fucking) you could make on the mother of your boyfriend? Probably making it completely obvious that you were lusting after son 24/7. Ok, I needed to get myself calm, and presentable…and I had exactly a half hour to do that in.

"Hey." He grabbed my hand. "We're not having a Q&A session or anything, ok? You're just meeting her. That's all. Just a quick hello and introductions. That's it."

I nodded. "Right, right. Yeah."

"Mom will love you," Caroline added, nodding and beaming a smile at me. "I'm so excited! I can't wait for her to meet you! And I won't have to stop myself from saying 'Tyler's girlfriend' anymore."

Tyler didn't say anything else, and I just nodded at Caroline. Fuck. I didn't meet mothers. I'd never met a mother before. I'd fucked people for money—they didn't bring their mom's along to meet me! How do you meet a mother? What should I say?

Shit. Did I look all right? Did I look… I dunno…responsible enough to be watching her daughter? Fuck, did I look responsible enough to be dating her son? I looked down at what I was I threw on this morning when Caroline caught us. Christ! I shouldn't have worn this tank top. It was green. What did green say? It wasn't even really green anymore; it was all faded and old. I should have worn a newer one. And I think definitely not green. _Oh my God, it has a hole. I was wearing a tank top with a hole._ My fucking hair was in a sloppy ponytail, and we hadn't even showered this morning. We _so _should have showered, and I'm sure these shorts I had on were way too fucking short. I had old sneakers on and no socks. I should have worn socks. No socks said something. I'm not sure what that _something_ was, but I'm sure it wasn't good. I looked far too fucking casual to meet his mother.

Tyler was suddenly licking my arm. "The fuck?" I said, before even thinking really. I'd been trying not to swear as much in front of Caroline, but it was just so…unexpected—I didn't know what the hell he was doing.

He did it again, all the way up my hand. "Your ice cream is melting all down your arm."

"Oh."

"You weren't listening to me at all. Are you ok?"

Was I ok? Fuck, no! I wasn't ok. This was going to be a disaster. I nodded dumbly, just kind of looking at him but not really seeing him at all. He looked worried, though. I handed him the cone with a panicked, "Here," and pretty much bolted from the table.

"Allison?"

"I'm just going to wash this off," I called back.

I jogged to the bathroom and spent more time splashing water on my face than washing any ice cream off. I just needed to get through a few minutes of conversation. I could do that. It couldn't be that hard. And try not to think about what I was wearing or that she would judge me or whatever, based on that. It wasn't like I planned on meeting her today. It wasn't formal. I sighed, letting it out slowly, trying to force calm.

I thought I was pretty good by the time I walked back out, and almost literally ran into Tyler.

He had a decent view of where Caroline was, but he stayed outside the restrooms waiting for me. He was even still holding my fucking cone. Jesus. I just…

He was assessing, his eyes locked on mine, not wavering at all. "You ok?" He asked quietly.

I nodded shakily. "Yeah."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

His lips pressed together for a second, his face going all frustrated. "Right. So what's wrong? Is this about my mom?"

I bit at the inside of my cheek, looking away from him. "Maybe," I said quietly.

"Do you not want to meet her?"

Did I want to? I didn't even know. "No," I said quickly, and then changed it to, "Maybe. I dunno."

He tugged me over to him with his free hand, so my body was touching as much of his as possible. He moved the cone closer to me, but I waved him off and he tossed it in the trash can instead. He pulled me into him more, holding onto me. "Do you think she won't like you? Is that it?"

I shrugged into him instead of answering.

"She's really not that scary."

"I just don't want to make a bad impression," I said into his chest.

"How would you even make a bad one? We're only going to see her for a minute."

I pulled back, annoyed and frustrated. "I mean, just look at me."

"I am looking at you."

"No, I mean, I'm a mess! We didn't even shower this morning." I pulled on my shirt. "Look at this! It has a hole! A hole, Tyler!"

He chuckled.

"This isn't funny! It has a hole! I can't meet your mother with a hole in my shirt! What is she going to think?"

He tried pulling me back to him, but I resisted at first, only caving when he ducked his head and gave me that _please_ look-thing. Ugh. "I'm not laughing _at_ you. You just—you just sound like such a _girl_."

I couldn't help it, I smirked. Because I _so_ did. I picked at his T-shirt. "I just don't want her to not approve or whatever."

"I don't need her approval. I'm not asking her for her approval. I just want her to meet my girlfriend. I could give a fuck what she thinks. It's just a courtesy. I told you that before. I don't care what they think. It doesn't change anything."

"Yeah."

He kissed me. "It doesn't change anything. Stop worrying. She's not judgmental."

I sighed heavily, letting him hold me up.

We started walking again and even with his reassurance, I was still all nervous.

"Tyler?" Caroline asked, suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Where did that ring come from?"

"Allison got it for me for my birthday."

"Ooooooh."

"What?"

"Well, where's Allison's ring?"

"It's not her birthday yet. Her birthday's in October."

Caroline made a noise of disgust. "Tyler," she started this so… I don't even know how to describe it… Adult-like? Like halfway between patient and _you are so dumb_. "You don't have to wait for her birthday! Haven't you ever gotten her a present before?"

Tyler got all flustered. It was really adorable. "No! Of course I have!"

"Well what did you get her?"

"I got her flowers. And a wallet."

"A wallet? Seriously? You got your girlfriend _a wallet_?"

He let out a breath. "It was complicated."

"A wallet?"

"Well…"

"And flowers? Flowers? You're more thoughtful than that."

"Hey! I got her _Allison in Wonderland_ so we could read it together and the movie and stuff. I get her stuff!"

"Seems pretty superficial. She got you a _ring_."

I was giggling so hard by time she got to the last part, I almost couldn't breathe. It was exactly the tension breaker I needed to feel calmer before his mom got there.

"You should have gotten her a ring first," she ended with.

He sighed heavily. "Fine. Yes. I should have. I'll work on that." I couldn't tell if he was genuinely angry or if he was just telling her that to shut up, but it was hilarious. He cared a lot about what Caroline thought, what her opinions were. He was silent pretty much the entire way to Strawberry Fields. Caroline didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't care. She just chattered away to me the whole time about how cool the Strawberry Fields section of the park was, and that it was a quiet zone that meant you couldn't bring your dog through it, or rollerblade, or ride your bike or even run through it. We had a little time to look around before their mom got there, and really, it was pretty amazing. The _Imagine_ mosaic on the ground was given as a gift from the city of Naples, and really gorgeous flowers were everywhere. It was incredibly peaceful there, and the amount of respect everyone there seemed to show was really fucking impressive. Beatles music was decent, so I thought it was one of the coolest places we'd seen today, and a cool way to end the whole day.

They called it a _Garden of Peace_… That lasted until Caroline ran over to a woman I could only assume was their mother, and started pulling her towards Tyler and me. Oh shit. _Oh shit. Ohshitshitshitshitshit._

Tyler and I were still holding hands, and I didn't know if I should let go, or keep holding on, and I wound up just squeezing the fuck out of his hand until he actually looked over at me, wincing. "What's the matter?"

I was half whispering, because she was getting closer by the second. "I don't think I can do this," I said, all of it coming out in a rush. "I think I should go wait over by a bench or something."

Tyler's eyes took in his mother's approach and he shook his head, just a little bit, holding my gaze. "No, I want you right here."

"I can't." I squeezed his hand some more, pulling down on it.

And then he did something I totally never expected. He fucking kissed me right when she was almost practically on top of us. Just kissed me. Right there. In Strawberry Fields. With his mother, like, five feet away. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine quickly. "Just breathe."

I let out a breath, nodding to him a few times. "Ok. Ok."

Fucking Christ. I wanted to crawl in a hole. But I kinda couldn't stop smiling, either.

Tyler turned, my hand still squeezing the shit out of his. He never let go, though. Never let on that him holding my hand was probably the only thing not making me literally run for the other side of the park.

"Hey, mom."

"Hello, Tyler."

He leaned closer to her, and she leaned in and they did one of those half-body hugs because he was still holding onto me. Caroline ran over, beaming up at me.

Tyler adjusted us so I was a little closer, and started. "Mom, this is my girlfriend, Allison. Allison, this is my mother, Diane."

She put her hand out. "It's very nice to meet you, Allison."

I took it, shaking it lightly and wondering if I was doing it right. I cleared my throat. "It's nice to meet you, too." She had an accent; I didn't remember Tyler telling me that part. I knew he told me that she was Russian, but when he said it, I assumed he meant Russian as in of-Russian-heritage, not as in _from_ Russia. I mean, I didn't know that really, but I didn't think you usually had an accent if you weren't born somewhere else. It wasn't that noticeable really, but enough that you could tell it was there. She was really beautiful.

She was smiling at me, but then looked at Caroline. "Something tells me you guys didn't meet today."

Caroline shrugged. "Mom, she's so great. I love her. You're going to love her. She's _perfect_ for Tyler."

Not that I didn't appreciate Caroline saying it, but it was sort of a lot of live up to here.

Her smile turned back to me. It seemed like a nice smile, genuine. Like maybe she believed Caroline. Or she could just be too nice to say _Oh my, God, you're so not right for my son. Get the fuck out! _ I started chewing my lip. I didn't know what else to say to her. _Thanks for having him? He's really great? _I mean… What did you talk to _mothers_ of your boyfriends about?

"Well, now that I know he has you, you'll have to come over for dinner so we can get to know each other better." She said next because I literally could not seem to speak.

"Ok," I agreed flatly. Jesus. OK?! _OK!?_ I wanted to slap myself. I cleared my throat, and added, "That would be really nice. I'd like that." _No. No, I actually wouldn't. _I'd probably hate it. She'd know then! She'd totally know I was just a complete freak. If I couldn't come up with anything to say right now, what would I say then? What would we talk about? Fuck. What if she asked me what I did for a living? What did I say?!_ Oh my, God, this was a disaster and it hadn't even happened yet. _

She had kind eyes. Nonjudgmental, he was right. She seemed like a concerned person. It made sense she was a social worker. Probably much better than any I ever fucking had. Maybe we could bond over that. Way to cozy up to mom! Talk about your prior history of foster homes and shitty case workers. God. I was so screwed.

"Tyler, call me and we'll set something up, ok?"

"Yeah, I'm sure she'll leap at the chance for repeated diners with this family."

She clucked her tongue at him and shook her head. "Soon. Make it soon, Tyler."

He nodded. "I will."

Soon?! What did that mean? Did I fail the approval because I was a horrible talker and didn't know what the fuck to say to her? Why soon?

"Thanks for watching Caroline last minute today. I hope it didn't make you two change your plans."

I bit my tongue at the grin Caroline shot us.

"No, it was fine," he assured his mother.

"We had a great day," I added. Maybe that would add a few points.

"Good." They turned to walk and Caroline waved as they walked away. I leaned into him, still really grateful for his hand. It occurred to me that he put me on his right side so I could keep his hand, but still be able to greet his mother with the other one.

"You ok?" he asked.

I took a deep breath before blowing it out on a, "Nope."

"You wanna sit?" he asked.

I nodded after a second. "That'd be good, yeah."

We sat on a bench that was closer to where we'd been, and were just quiet for a while before he asked me quietly, "You wanna talk about it?"

I didn't even really answer his question. I just started with, "I think I totally blew that with your mom."

"What? No you didn't. Why do you say that?"

"I don't know how to do this, Tyler. It's bad enough that you have to be so…_you_. I don't meet mom's. I don't hang out with little sisters. I just… Ugh. I suck at this."

"You do not."

"I do."

"Stop it." He pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

"No, I mean, I didn't know what to say and she's so amazing—you can tell just looking at her. I'm sure she's done a ton of really great shit. What could we possibly have to talk about? We have nothing in common."

Tyler was quiet a second, long enough that I turned to look at him. "My mom is amazing; that's true. I mean, I think that, but I'm biased because she's also my mom. But she's strong. She's been through a helluva lot, and she's really great."

"Yeah, see!" I pointed at him uselessly, like he'd helped prove my thought.

"You didn't let me finish. Amazing and greatness—those are all relative things. They're only meaningful to whoever is saying them. I think _you're_ amazing. I think you're great. You don't have to be anything extra for me to think that. Sometimes strippers can be amazing." He was smiling at me, and nudged my shoulder with his. "You've been through more than she has, I think. You're just a strong. And besides, you have me in common. That's more than enough. And you might have more in common than you think. Just give it a chance."

I didn't know what to say when he came out with shit like that. God, if I couldn't come up with something to say to _him_ right now, I was just screwed. But I tried to be positive, for him if nothing else. "Ok."

He nodded once like he was glad that was settled.

"I'll just start pouring out my life story the minute I walk in the door. Maybe she'll just feel really, really bad, and be super nice."

He laughed. "That's one way to go about it."

~ooOoo~

The apartment was so fucking hot when we got back, it wasn't even funny. Not like my apartment would have been any better, but like our place, the fans Tyler had were basically useless. Fans in general were kind of useless. They just blew the hot air around during the day. At night, at least you could get some of the cooler air pulled in, but during the day, even if you had everything shut up (which Tyler didn't), everything was hot and damp and it stuck to you, and ugh.

Basically I flopped on the bed and just wound up lying there, baking into the blanket.

Tyler chuckled and landed next to me, too goddamn energetic and cheery for the level of heat in the room.

Eventually, I managed to roll so I was at least facing his direction.

His face was all flushed, and the ends of his hair were damp, some stuck to his forehead. He looked like I felt, but he seemed much happier about it than I was.

"So... I've been thinking about what Caroline said before," he said after a minute of us looking at each other.

"About what?"

"About you getting me the ring and me getting you lame-ass shit."

I shoved at his shoulder. "You do not get me lame-ass shit. She doesn't understand what was behind some of those things."

"No, I know, but I'm sorry I haven't gotten you, I dunno, more. Just more, I guess."

"You didn't tell her the best present you ever got me."

"What was that?" he asked.

"You got me a gyno exam."

He laughed loudly. "Yeah, right. I forgot about that. That was definitely the best present ever. A top on all girls' lists."

I shook my head. "No, I'm really kinda serious. It was really nice." I paused, looking away from him, basically talking to the blanket on the bed. "You're really nice, Tyler. No one else would do that. Or even think of it."

"You make it really easy to be nice," he said back just as quietly.

I moved over, snuggling into his chest, his arms wrapping around me. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. It was nice, even if the snuggling meant it was so much hotter.

I giggled a second later.

"What?"

I pulled back and kissed him quickly. "We're so fucked up."

He nodded. "Definitely tell my mom that. We bonded over being fucked up. Thanks for dinner!"

"Definitely," I agreed, kissing him quickly. I deepened the kiss, my fingers tangling in the damp hair at the back of his neck. He moaned when I pushed a leg between his, rubbing against him.

I let it go on until he was rolling his hips into me, and I knew pretty soon clothes were going to be coming off. I pushed him back gently, getting off the bed. "I'm gonna start dinner. Something cool. Because it's like a fucking oven in here."

"Whu…" he said, confused and still half-holding his arms out for me, looking at the place I just left. "Weren't we…"

"What?" I asked, trying for completely innocent.

"With…the kissing… I thought…"

I waved him off. "It's too fucking hot in here now for fucking. And besides, we don't have to have sex right away just because we're kissing. It's not possible for us to have sex 24/7. Isn't that what you told me?" I was smirking really wide, pretty fucking proud of myself.

His face changed immediately, his mouth moving into something more amused, and he nodded once at me. "I see." He held a hand up. "I would like to point out the difference in that we're not in public here. Just saying."

"I'd like to point out that if you keep arguing with me, your balls will be unhappier, and your dick's gonna be missing me for much longer. Just saying."

He cleared his throat. "What's for dinner then? Should I go get something? So you don't have to cook and be hotter? And I have a doubly better shot at getting laid?"

So smart, my boyfriend. I made it back to the bed in four steps, landing on him. "I want a sub. From that place down the street. And lemonade."

His hips pushed up again. "This is not a good position if you want me to just go get food."

I pressed my lips to his quickly, pulling back just as quickly. "You'll live."

"It's iffy. Not sure I can walk now."

I giggled, biting his chin. "I'm hungry. If you hurry, I might make it worth your while when you get back. After we eat of course."

He practically dumped me back on the bed he moved to fast. He was basically out the door already. I could hear his footsteps landing heavily as he ran down the stairs. My phone rang a second later.

"You didn't miss a step, did you?"

"No, I managed to make it all the way down."

"Good."

"What kind of sub am I getting?"

"Are you running?"

"Yeah. But I'm going to have to stop or die of heatstroke."

"Yeah, then I wouldn't get my sub. So don't do that."

"Good to know I'd be missed."

"I'd miss you in a few days. I can take care of myself until then."

"You know, I could forget the lemonade."

"You could, but then you'd just have to go back. Your dick wants you to get me lemonade."

"Fucking traitorous dick."

"Turkey."

"And on it?"

"Cheese and everything but jalapenos. Too hot for jalapenos."

"K."

"Don't drink all my lemonade on the way home."

"I'll get my own."

"Good plan. I'll see you in a few then."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	40. Chapter 40

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty **

* * *

**TPOV**

What a difference half a year makes…

That was my first thought when I woke up. Well, honestly it was the second thought.

Allison was next to me, sleeping on her back; her face towards me, but her head only half on the pillow, one leg thrown over mine, one hand flopped on my chest, warm and solid. I felt… I wasn't sure I could even classify it. Giddy wasn't even in on this planet today. I wasn't sure I'd ever been this excited about anything.

And, I mean, I knew _why_ of course, but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't like we didn't have sex all the time. It wasn't like we hadn't had sex last night. In any other relationship, this wouldn't have been a big step. Or maybe that was exactly the thing—in any other relationship, I never really made this step. I never had a reason to. I never really cared enough. It was pretty huge. But it also seemed completely natural. And I wanted it.

I felt wired, restless, almost to the point of agitation. I didn't know what to do with myself. I wanted to wait; I wanted this to be special. I didn't want to rush it. But I had to do something about the complete and total hyperactivity going on everywhere in my fucking body. I couldn't calm anything down, least of all my mind.

I thought about the first time I saw her, looking bored and annoyed in the bar with her unidentifiable hair color, and jittery, strange, non-existent conversational skills; all assumption and completely amazing green eyes. Getting arrested and the surreal breakfast we had; the morning ending with her Super Gluing my head. When she didn't trust me at all; when sleeping next to me in the same bed was a stretch, much less anything remotely sexual.

I eased out from under her, and seriously considered just starting sex, but there was just something not totally right about that. That definitely wasn't the way to make this special. And I didn't want it to be quick this morning, either. But I had to do something with all of the restless energy, and I could at least get her off before I had to get ready for work.

I started spreading her legs gently, not wanting her to wake up until I was really started, and smiled at the way she just totally let her legs fall open for me. It was completely obvious the humongous change that was from her confusion over me just wanting to get her off that first day in my apartment. She used to be _so _guarded about everything and now, now there was a level of trust that even at her most vulnerable, she completely yielded to me, even in sleep. I couldn't explain the pride that swelled knowing I gained that level of trust.

I took a minute as I moved closer, resisting the urge to run my fingers all over her skin—that would have woken her up—to just appreciate…everything. She was perfect; her legs that went on and on, and wrapped around me in just the right place. Her hipbones defined but filled out and curvy; my thumbs fit just right in the little indent there. Her stomach, smooth and soft, and her round breasts that fit my hands exactly, pushed up more by the positioning of her arms—both up and bent at the elbows, the one that had been flung across me now on the pillow, the other her fingers all curled in. Her hair was in a messy fan under her head, her mouth open just the smallest amount, her lips just begging to be kissed and sucked. Our kissing had been so, _so_ tentative in the beginning; I was so afraid of sending her running. I wanted to kiss her now. I wanted to kiss her all over, but I could do that after.

I thought about the first time she grabbed my hand when we left the theater and how that had seemed like _such_ a fucking huge step. And now look where we were.

She was so responsive from the very first time my fingers were in her, and every time after; that hadn't changed. I licked her slowly, thinking about the first time I'd gone down on her after our first separation of _three whole days_. It seemed like such a long time ago. She shifted sleepily as I started pushing my tongue inside her, her body keeping up with me—her pussy getting wet even though she wasn't fully awake yet. She let out a low moan while she stretched, her legs going all taut with the same stretch, and the moan deepened when I sucked over her opening before doing the same thing to her clit, loving the shudder that went through her.

It was the knowledge. The fact that her body, and her subconscious knew that I'd get her there and there was nothing to be wary of—that was just indescribable. Her eyes opened sleepily while she stretched again, and a lazy smile broke out when she fixed on me. She wasn't surprised. And I loved that. I loved that this was normal enough now that she didn't even question or wonder or anything. The sense of affection and intimacy—that we weren't having any one-sided conversations anymore—she could see everything she needed to in my eyes.

She lifted her hips and pressed back against me, and I just let my tongue sink in her farther, moving my hands up to hold onto her before starting to rub over her clit. Her hands landed in my hair the second I concentrated my mouth on her clit and pushed two fingers inside her instead.

I'm not sure why some guys don't dig eating girls out. Everything about it was win. Guys were completely oral, so spending any amount of time running your entire tongue over something that made your girl moan out your name and come apart under you should have been welcome. I'd do it for hours just to watch her.

Her sounds were enough to do me in every fucking time because she never stuck with just one thing. The moans turned into whines and pants and the sexiest fucking low guttural noises when she was coming. Watching her come now was just as amazing as it'd been the first time. And finding out what she liked and still trying other shit was half the fucking fun.

I eased my fingers out of her, licking her off while her breathing started slowing. The first time I'd done this to her, she latched onto me, trembling completely, tears starting. She was so comfortable with me now.

So perfect.

God, I wanted to fuck her. Take her right now, right here, no waiting. She would let me, too.

"Fuck me," she said, like she could read my mind (not that I wasn't completely transparent here).

She was sent to test my willpower; I'm certain of it.

I know I moaned myself. I was so hard and she was so wet and pliant and ready, and eager and still drowsy and all I had to do was just push myself inside. I don't think I've ever wanted to do anything more.

Instead I tried to take a deep breath, and failed miserably, shaking my head slowly.

"We don't have to wait anymore," she told me, as if I didn't know what day today was.

"I know."

She whined. "Then come on. Fuck me." She further tried to explain by shimming down so all I had to do was literally just ease inside her. "Now. I don't want to wait anymore. We've waited this long already."

I could just do it. It wouldn't really… What difference would a few hours make?

"Please?"

Ah, fuck. Not the please. I couldn't deny her shit with the please.

"Tyler?"

I sighed heavily as she started to reach for me, tugging me and already lining me up.

This just wasn't how I saw it going at all. I didn't want it to be quick before I had to go to work. I didn't want it to just be a quick fuck and then run off. I wanted to take my time. This was a huger deal than she was making it out to be. It wasn't just about doing it the second we could.

I pulled back a little, looking down at her. "No, later. I don't… I don't want to just do this right now before I have to leave for work. I don't…" She looked sort of…not hurt exactly, just…unsure. Like I was rejecting her for some reason. "I don't want to leave you after. Ok? I just... Tonight. I want to wait until tonight. So I can do this right."

The uncertainty dropped abruptly. "What the fuck are we waiting for? Waiting sucks, Tyler."

I chuckled. "I know. But it makes things that much more meaningful later. I want it to be special."

"Why can't this be special?"

"Because it just won't be."

"Ugh."

"I know it sucks. You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now."

"I think I have a pretty good idea, thanks." She whined, and I bent to kiss her. She let me, but she totally bit me the second time I went in, and tugged on my cock again. "C'mon."

I breathed out slowly, moving her hand away. "Later. We can last another few hours. Just a few hours, baby. I'll be back before you know it. I just don't want to run out after."

"Then fucking call in sick or something!"

Fuck. I totally should have. I seriously considered it. And she knew she was winning. She started kissing along my jaw, licking her way back to my neck. Fuck, if she got to my neck, I'd never leave. No. Special. Like, dinner, flowers or something kind of special. I didn't have any of that ready now. I kissed her twice quickly, starting to back away. "Few hours."

"Ugh." Her arms flopped back dramatically on the bed. "You are such a fucking asshole."

I chuckled, tossing some clothes on. "I know. There I go again, being a fucking asshole wanting things to be special for you."

She flipped me off and there may have been a shoe that hit the door when I closed it.

~ooOoo~

**APOV **

I'm not a patient person; never have been. Waiting fucking sucks. They call it instant gratification because that's exactly what it is—you fucking get really happy, right-the-fuck-now. Being fucked on command was way better than waiting for it. He was nuts. And he'd just totally gone down on me and left me all unsatisfied in the dick department.

I didn't care that he wanted it to be special. I wanted it now. I wanted it then. I just fucking wanted it. Special. What the fuck did that even mean? How could he make it _more_ special? Wasn't it special enough? What difference did it make if we did it at eight in the morning or later at night?

And now I was gonna be fucking horny. All. fucking. day.

He was so getting bitchy texts. All. fucking. day.

I threw on a T-shirt and a pair of his boxers and trudged out to see if the asshole had at least made coffee before he left for work.

Instead of coffee there was a plate on the table, toast with what looked like strawberry jam and a glass of juice. He had a scribbled note next to the plate that said: _I poured your own juice. Probably the best or only breakfast I've ever made for anyone. I'll call you later. _

It took me a second, but then I started laughing. The first night he ever stayed at my apartment, when he'd shown up and rambled through his apology and basically passed out on our couch, he made me toast that next morning. Even buttered the toast and spread the jam. And we hadn't had any juice, but he told me he would have poured some for me if we had it.

He was such a fucking…sentimental dork. And he forgot nothing. God, that was annoying and attractive all at the same time.

And I suppose…the boy did eat pussy like a fat kid ate cake.

I hadn't even asked him if he wanted me to blow him or jerk him off, and he still made me breakfast. Sort of put an end to my whole bitchy texts thing.

I grabbed one of the pieces of toast and went to grab my phone, sending:

_so i guess you're pretty awesome for a fucking asshole. thanks for the toast. and the wakeup call. even if you did leave me dickless. _

A second later, I got back: _Well, if it's any consolation, my balls are in revolt. They really fucking hate me. _

I laughed and send back: _they should. they're on my side. team fuck me now._

_Team fuck me now will be glad she waited later._

Hmm. _ why is that? is there some plan i should know about? _

He didn't answer right away. I figured he had work shit he was doing. My phone rang instead of a text this time. "Team fuck-me-now, ready and waiting."

He chuckled. "I guess that makes me Team waiting-is-better."

"Your Team sucks, just saying."

He sighed. "Yeah, the boys calmed down now. So they'll survive. They can make it."

"Did they just shrivel up in protest?"

He blew out a laugh, and I could tell he was smoking. He must have been outside. "No I jerked off in the same closet you blew me in. It was unsurprisingly quick."

"So you have something planned that I should know about?"

"Um, well, not specifically. Did you want to do something? Dinner or something?"

"Yeah, I guess we could do dinner. Pretty much I'm going to want to jump you the minute you walk through the door, though. We might not make it."

He kind of ignored that part. "Is there someplace you've always wanted to go but never have? We can go wherever you want."

Aww.

Just talking to him again, I started really thinking about how he wanted this to be special. Maybe I wasn't making special enough. Maybe it was supposed to be a bigger deal. Or maybe when he said he wanted it to be special, I should have been thinking more about how it should be special for him, too. I was being kinda selfish with all my fuck-me-now shit. This was just as huge for him as it was for me. Maybe I needed to be the one that did something like he usually did. Something out of the ordinary that would make it more special than just another Friday. The only other time I'd really done anything special for him was his birthday. I mean, we did little things for each other, but he was usually the one with the plan.

"Allison?"

"Yeah, sorry, just thinking… Why don't I make dinner?"

He was quiet for a second, and then, "Um. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll make dinner."

"That's not really… I mean, I didn't…"

"Really. I'd rather stay in."

"Is this a ploy to get to sex faster?"

I chuckled. "No. Really, I'll make dinner. I want to make dinner. K?"

"Yeah, ok. If that's what you want."

"Yes."

"You're sure you don't want to go somewhere?"

"I'm sure. What time will you be home so I know when to have it ready?"

"Probably about six."

"Good deal." That gave me enough time to figure out what to have and hopefully what else I could do. "See you later then. Hope your day goes by fast."

"Thanks. Yours, too. Bye."

"Bye."

I didn't really know what I was making yet, but at least I had the dinner idea under control. I could figure out the actual meal once I got to the store.

I left the apartment with the intention of making the grocery run, but was trying to think of something else I could do to make it special for him, too. And I sort of had the next idea smack me in the face when I walked past a store window that literally was overflowing with lingerie.

It hadn't really ever occurred to me to buy lingerie—for Tyler, that is. But I kinda thought he might like that.

And then I was pretty much in the store before I even really realized.

Lingerie was a clusterfuck, just fyi—there are way too many choices and most of them make you look like a whore, even if that wasn't what you intended to begin with. As I didn't think looking like a whore would be the thing that made this special, anything whorish-looking was definitely out for tonight.

I wanted something simple. Something that didn't make me think about stripping, because that'd probably make him think about it, too. So it needed to be something that fit _me_. I never picked out anything that was supposed to fit the real me before. I always picked shit that was designed to be taken off, or designed to show something, or designed to show just enough or hell, too much sometimes.

Slutty. Most of it was pretty fucking slutty. I didn't want slutty for Tyler tonight.

Garters, corsets, fishnets, bustiers, pasties, teddies; those were all out. And, _Jesus_, there were a lot of completely tasteless pieces of lingerie; and coming from me, that said something. I didn't want a fucking costume. I just wanted to be myself.

I decided pretty much on the first rack I looked at that red was out. Red was hot; it was sexy, but it also screamed whore in a lot of styles, and I just didn't want something so cliché and overused. Black was always sexy, and could be really tasteful, but it just wasn't…right.

I settled on purple. It was different, and the one I found was actually really… I felt like myself in it. I felt like I could wear it not be really embarrassed—which again, you'd think I'd be used to wearing ridiculous lingerie, but I just didn't want to be ridiculous for Tyler tonight. I felt comfortable, confident, capable.

I thought it was very tasteful. And I thought he'd really like it.

I left the store pretty fucking pleased with myself.

~ooOoo~

**TPOV**

I wasn't sure I really wanted her to make dinner on a night like tonight. I mean, I didn't really have a huge plan or anything, but I wanted it to be different from our average Friday night. I didn't really relish the idea of her spending a significant portion of her day cooking something and not that the entire night had to be this extravagant event, but just… I wanted it to be set apart from other nights.

I had serious thoughts about booking a really nice hotel room and taking her there, doing the whole room service thing, and fooling around in the pool before being cozy in the hot tub, but one, I didn't know if that was overdoing it, and two, I didn't know if that would be… I didn't want to bring any bad memories or spark some sort of catatonic state because prostitutes had a tendency to see the inside of a lot of hotel rooms. There was no other sure-fire way to kill the entire fucking mood by flipping the switch and making her remember something I had spent months trying to replace with better memories. I suppose it was kinda cliché, too. Too _Pretty Woman_, or some bullshit like that.

I just wasn't sure that the bed we fucked in the night before screamed _special_ to me. And I wasn't there to do anything environmentally to make it special.

How exactly was I going to make this all happen when I wasn't even in the apartment, or when she was already there and making it happen would mean that she couldn't be there?

Fuck. This was falling apart and I hadn't really even started yet. I shouldn't have been at work. I couldn't concentrate on anything anyway. I should have forced her out of the apartment and spent the whole day just…doing whatever to make it special. And now she was cooking, too!? What the fuck was I thinking? I should have insisted we go out somewhere instead of just being all, _Sure, go ahead and make yourself the really awesome special dinner I should be taking you out for instead._

I should have changed the sheets.

I should have cleaned the room.

Fuck, I should have gotten a gift. Or several.

I couldn't even remember if I told Aidan he had to get lost tonight. Wouldn't that just make the evening? Aidan walking in drunk with some bimbo and start fucking on the couch.

Here I'd spent the entire morning insisting we had to wait and make it special and when I was ready to go home, I wasn't even going to have anything in place to make that happen. She was going to be waiting for a big fat bowl of nothing special.

I was a horrible boyfriend.

She probably thought I had some elaborate evening all planned out, and instead I was hyperventilating in the biography section of The Strand. That was why when I asked if there was someplace special she wanted to go, she'd taken so long to answer. She assumed I had this shit all buttoned up already. Why didn't I have this shit all buttoned up? This was huge. It was so fucking huge. I should. have. had. this. shit. all. buttoned. up. That's why she offered to make dinner! Because I was a complete failure at special! I should have known already where her favorite place to go that she'd never been was. Boyfriends should know these things!

I had to get off of this fucking ladder before I fell off from lack of oxygen. Air. Yes, air was good. I needed to get out of this store and find air. Air was outside.

Smoking was probably not a good thing to do when you were near hyperventilation, but I needed something else to concentrate on, and killing my lungs was better than nothing. I finished one and immediately lit another, savoring the calm that something simple and mechanical offered.

_Ok, Hawkins, get your shit together._

There were facts that I just had to come to terms with. I wasn't at the apartment, so anything I might have wanted to prepare there was not going to happen. I just had to accept that part. I could call Aidan and make sure I told him to get lost. That was an easy fix if I missed that part. Pretty much the only other thing under my control was a gift. Flowers and a gift. I could totally do that. I mean, I wasn't exactly sure if this was a gift-giving event, but…it seemed celebratory. And I had to do _something_.

So, one celebratory, epic gift—that's all I had to come up with. Not like I had any fucking clue what that might be. Cool. She was already giving me the best gift I could ask for, so exactly how does one quantify that in a materialistic way? What would be the perfect gift to give someone who was already giving you every last microscopic part of herself?

Well, that was obvious… I mean, I had _no fucking clue._

I sighed and dropped the cigarette, crushing it more angrily than was necessary, all the leftover tobacco all pulverized into the sidewalk. I checked the time. That was the only good thing; it was still early enough that if I got the fuck out of here, I _might_ be able to find something. I told my boss I wasn't feeling well, and really, I mean, I'd been half hyperventilated and breaking out into cold sweats just minutes before. He really didn't give me any shit about it, so that was good.

When I got back outside, I sort of stood there for a good few minutes just trying to decide where in the great, huge city of New York I needed to go to find this epic gift. I finally just picked a direction and basically spent the better part of the entire afternoon wandering aimlessly. And could pretty much chalk this up to another failure for today, because nothing I came across seemed right, or if it was right, I found something wrong with it that just didn't say what I wanted it to. I didn't even know what it should say exactly. I admitted defeat in enough time that I could still get the flowers and make it back to the apartment for six.

Or at least I thought I did. Of course when I was looking at all the flowers, I had the same fucking problem. I was over-thinking everything. I knew this. But I couldn't make it stop, and just wanting it to be the _right_ thing was completely consuming pretty much my entire being. Were red roses too cliché? I mean, they were like the quintessential love flower. It's what everyone got. But did I want what everyone got? She really liked the lilies from the last bouquet I got her; maybe I should go all lilies. The poor lady at the flower shop was about as frustrated with me as I was with myself. And I think she was kind of joking when she mentioned these other roses—like a last ditch effort just to break the mounting tension I was creating because nothing was correct. Except the second after she suggested them, they were actually kind of perfect. Unusual, and striking, and not unlike the person I was buying them for. Colorful. So I was pretty happy with the choice, or as happy as I was going to get while still analyzing and questioning.

That pretty much left the instant I opened the door to the apartment. The smell was wonderful enough, but then there she was, fluttering around the kitchen in a fucking dress. Not like a long dress, but a… I couldn't even think beyond the fact that she was standing in my kitchen, cooking dinner in _any_ fucking dress. A sundress, I think. Little spaghetti straps and short, way above the knee—her legs in the dress were luscious in their own right. The dress was white, with green and orange brush-mark looking stripes and it totally made her eyes seem even greener than they were. I couldn't remember her ever wearing a dress before. And I sort of couldn't speak.

So it was good that she turned around and noticed me standing there like the drooling idiot I probably looked like. "Hey, honey."

"Hi," I managed, shaking my head once to clear it enough to actually have a conversation. Except all I wanted to do was kiss her. So I didn't even give her the flowers; I just totally dropped them on the table and stepped right into her and she just followed right along with me, her arms going around my neck and pretty much I just wanted to stay there.

She was smiling widely at me when she finally pulled back. "Miss me?"

I nodded slowly. "You look amazing."

She ducked her head kind of shyly, and I sort of loved that I could still make her do that. "Thank you."

"These are for you." I grabbed for the bouquet and her eyes lit up even more.

"Oh, Tyler." She said it in this quiet, hushed, surprised voice and it was pretty much the best thing next to her in the dress.

"This time I don't think the lady at the flower shop liked me at all."

"Why not?"

"Because I couldn't decide what I wanted to get for you."

"I've never seen roses like this before. They're incredible."

"They're called Rainbow roses."

"How do they get them to be all the colors?"

"I think they dye them. She probably told me, but I was sort of preoccupied."

"I love them. They're so beautiful." She kissed me quickly once more and then turned to the sink to put them in water.

"You look amazing," I said again, appreciating the view while she arranged them. "Did I mention that? Really, really amazing."

She chuckled over her shoulder at me. "Yeah, you might have said something."

"I think I'm underdressed. Maybe I should change."

"No!" She said; hands up to stop me from going to the bedroom. "You're dressed fine." Her hands landed on my chest. "I like you in these."

"T-shirts?" I hadn't exactly dressed up for work. I grabbed pretty much the first things I found on the floor which happened to be a white V-neck and khaki shorts.

"The white ones," she said quietly, nodding, fingers flexing.

The dress was so soft under my fingers, lightweight, and I loved back; it had a little part cut-out that was just where my fingertips came to rest. I liked that I could feel both the dress and her skin all at once.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Good."

I looked at the table finally, and I don't think it had ever seen this level of class, or elegance, or dining, at all, ever. The table was set (which never happened), there was actual food in dishes—no cardboard or Styrofoam. Two taper candles were lit in the middle of the table, and most of the rest of the lights were off. She even had music that I hadn't noticed while being completely focused on her and the dress.

"God, you really went all out."

"You like it?"

"It's great. I just feel bad that I didn't take you out somewhere. I didn't want you to spend the afternoon cooking."

She shook her head. "It really didn't take that long. And I wanted to. I wanted to make dinner for us. For you."

For me? "Oh." Well, that was one thing that hadn't occurred to me.

"Sit," she said, pointing to the chair. "I even got wine. I have no idea if it's good or not, but some lady in the liquor department told me it was her favorite and it went with fish, so that's what I got."

She was talking to ladies in the liquor department about what wine went with fish. _My Allison_ was discussing wine choices with ladies in the liquor department.

She poured the wine and then her eyes jerked to me suddenly. "You like fish, right? I didn't even think to ask you really."

"Yeah, I like fish."

She breathed out a sigh. "Oh, good. Otherwise that could have been very bad."

I chuckled. "I don't think there's any bad here. Everything looks amazing." I grabbed her wrist when she put something else on the table. "Thank you."

She cupped my cheek for a second. "You're welcome. Thank you for the flowers."

"Yeah, of course."

She sat and nodded to the food. "Eat."

I really never needed to be told twice.

Salad and fish and bread and green beans and fruit salad—one thing was for sure, I would never go hungry with Allison around. The meal was huge but light enough that I didn't feel uncomfortably full after, despite her repeated attempts to have me eat more.

I pulled her over to sit on my lap after she cleared most of the leftovers and dishes away. "Thanks for making dinner."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"I did." She was sitting sideways across my lap, leaning into me, which just gave me uninhibited access to her shoulder and her neck. I pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder and then rested my chin there. "I really did. It was way better than going out."

She turned her head, leaning her forehead against mine. "I like to cook for you." She tipped her head to quickly kiss the end of my nose and that pretty much just did it for me. Because she was sitting on my lap in this delicious-looking thin dress, after having made me this astoundingly good meal, and she was mine and I could kiss her whenever I damn well pleased. It wasn't like she protested or anything. I started moving down her neck and made it back to her shoulder, peeling the tiny strap down because any material was material too much. And I was quite thoroughly enjoying myself until she abruptly was gone from my lap.

"What…"

"Just… Wait here a second."

And then she was gone. I chuckled when the bedroom door opened and half-slammed shut again, wondering what she was doing now. I blew out the candles on the table, figuring we were probably done with those at this point, and sort of marveled for a few minutes over the way this night had completely flipped on me.

The door clicked open again, but when I leaned back, it was only open a crack. And I didn't know if that was an invitation or I was still supposed to wait.

"Tyyyyyyler…"

I chuckled at the way she drew out the y, and started down the hall. I could tell the lights were off, because there was only a tiny bit of yellowish light spilling out into the hallway, but it looked darker in there than it should have been.

I pushed the door open slowly, and it was kind of like every inch revealed just added to a mounting point of sensory overload. Because first I got the flicker of candles, and from there it just pretty much stopped with her. She was lighting the last candle; just a few that were scattered around the room, and she looked…flawless.

Everything else just faded out. We could have been anywhere, any room. It wouldn't have mattered right now if we'd been standing in the middle of Times Square. All I could see was her.

She was wearing… I have no idea what the fuck it was even called, but I couldn't think beyond how amazing she looked for a good… I don't know how long. Long enough that I was basically drooling, and she turned and was rocking the shit out the smirk she had on her face. Probably because I only met her eyes once when I first got in the room, and the rest of the time I spent looking over everything else.

It was purple. Not a lilac purple or a royal/plum kind of purple, but something in between. Lacey, two piece—a fucking g-string and strappy bra-thing that showed… I mean, it showed enough through the lacey-sheer that if I had to think about anything but her breasts right now, it wasn't going to be happening. It parted in the middle, tied with just one little bow and the sides flared out showing off her stomach and pretty much just drew more attention to the little purple triangle of lace that was covering her pussy.

I was still standing in the fucking doorway, and I think I managed some sort of stuttering noise.

My fingers were _itching_ to untie it. She played with the strings while she sauntered over to the bed, and it was like my mouth had gone completely dry.

It was so_ feminine_. Not that she wasn't feminine all the time but it showed every fucking amazing curve that made her the sexy, complicated, interesting, beautiful, sexy woman she was. First the dress, and now this. It sort of set up an internal conflict about whether ravaging her was the course of action or wrapping her up and protecting all those things forever was the far better choice.

I could do both.

It was lacy and delicate, and really…so was she. I could do both.

Just one little tie.

She sat down on the bed and jerked her head, holding out her hand. "C'mere."

Instructions were good. Good for guys who were sapped on a surplus of intelligence at the moment. Or general function at all. Things filtered in once I got to the bed, like how it had new sheets, and it was made. Christ, it was never made. Ever. The shades were pulled and it was surprisingly cooler in my room than the rest of the apartment, and cooler than it would normally be for a day this hot. She must have done that before the blazing heat of the day set in.

She thought of everything. Everything I should have if I'd done this right.

She touched my face. "You ok?"

"I… You look so amazing. I didn't think it got better than the dress. I was wrong." I gestured to the lingerie. _Jesus fucking Christ she bought lingerie for me_. "I can't even… You're so beautiful."

I almost didn't want to touch her right now. If I started, I didn't think I was going to be able to stop. So if we were going to have any other kind of conversation, it had to be now. And I wanted her to know that I appreciated everything she did.

When had this turned into her making it special for me? That was supposed to be my job. I loved it. I loved that she wanted to do this for me. I felt so fucking lucky, but I felt like I'd somehow diverted the attention from where it was supposed to be. This wasn't supposed to be about me.

"What?" she asked quietly.

"It's nothing, I just… I don't… I don't know what happened."

"What do you mean? With what?"

"I had this whole idea in the beginning that I was going to make this incredibly epic for you and I feel like you're doing it for me instead."

"And that's bad?"

"Well it's bad if all you remember having to make me dinner and shit. I mean, I didn't do anything here. You bought a dress. You bought this—" It was better if I wasn't looking right at the lacey lingerie straight outta one of my fantasies, "completely, absolutely, fucking sexy piece of lingerie, and I mean, I had trouble picking flowers. I wanted to get you something else. I ditched work early to get you something else, and I couldn't come up with anything that felt meaningful enough. It just all fell flat." I sighed. "I wanted it to be perfect."

"Why isn't it?"

I sighed. "You are. My part here was not. At all. All day."

She pulled my chin up so I was looking at her. "You're epic, ok? Just that you want to. That you want to be with me. I don't need other shit, Tyler. The flowers are gorgeous, but I don't need them. I just need you. That's all."

"I don't know if that's enough sometimes."

"You're enough. You're always enough."

I wasn't sure I agreed with her completely. I wasn't sure that just _me_ was really enough, but something about the way she said it, and the way her hand was cupping my cheek—she believed it completely. The concept of 'enough' in any other situation was usually coupled with the word 'not.' I felt extremely fortunate that she felt that way; that she accepted me, just me—she was probably the first person other than immediate family that didn't need me to be anything else but myself. She didn't need to be anything else for me, either. Odd how important I realized that was since I'd known her. Maybe that was all a relationship really needed. That and honesty. I'd never been this honest in any relationship before. I didn't want to hide anything from her. Love deserved truth. I remembered hearing once that to love completely was to do so without complete understanding.

I could love her enough. I knew that much.

"You're always enough for me, too. Always," I said back. Just the idea that she could even tell me that much was pretty spectacular.

I ducked to kiss her, nudging her nose with mine before our lips barely touched. I eased us back to keep kissing her, not in any hurry, and for once, she didn't seem to be either. She'd been so bent on this being fast, but she seemed fine with slow now. And that was exactly what I wanted for her.

~ooOoo~

**APOV **

I was pretty fucking proud of myself.

Sometimes I think I'd sort of been born with guys staring at me. You just get to feel that way when your life tends to be spent on a stage. You get incredibly used to men looking, watching, observing—like your life has become nothing but a voyeur show. And still, it's a completely disconnected experience, because the ones watching don't give a fuck about you at all. There are no emotions involved. They don't really see _me_ at all.

From the first moment I locked eyes with Tyler, I think I knew that was different. There was more there. If there was no other explanation, _more_ just had to cover it.

I think I truly surprised him with the dress. I couldn't remember ever wearing one for him really, and it was those little things that sort of made everything great. If the dress reaction was surprise, then the lingerie was on a completely different level. And it was made even greater by the fact that he really didn't ever _expect_ anything.

His eyes lit up when he caught the first glimpse of me in the bedroom. Surprise, but such a fucking happy surprise—and real _wanting_.

I didn't really know anything about desire—not in the sense of the word that 'normal' people do. I know about the darker side. Seeing Tyler's eyes when he took in the sight of me in the lingerie was pure desire.

I felt sexy—in a way I never really felt before. I was never nervous going on stage because that wasn't really me. And while I was confident wearing the lingerie, I _had_ been a little nervous about his reaction. I didn't want him to think I'd gone over the top; I hadn't wanted him to think that I was trying to say something I wasn't… I dunno, I just wanted it to be nice for him. I wanted to look nice, and have him see me in something nice.

I couldn't have asked for a better reaction honestly.

He had no words, followed by some stuttering; his breathing changed immediately. His eyes never left me, like the entire rest of the room didn't exist at all. I was amused by the way his eyes didn't stay on mine, but instead roamed my body, but never in a… Not in a vulgar way—appreciative and greedy, but only because it was already his. Beneath everything, there was a kindness in Tyler's eyes, always.

I felt wanted in the way I wanted him. I felt needed. I never had that before, either. I liked being needed.

His fingers twitched like he wanted nothing but to run over to me.

There was lust there, sure, but there were things in Tyler's eyes that no other guy had ever shared with me. I knew what the lust was for. And it wasn't just a quick fuck.

Yes, I was proud of myself. I was proud that I made it special for him like he made everything else for me. And the fact that he was still worried/concerned that he was doing enough or that he'd somehow spoiled part of the specialness _for me_ was just… I don't think he understood really how he completely changed my entire life in every possible way. And that he was doing it again tonight.

He was lying on his side next to me, warm and solid; kissing me so gently it almost felt like our lips weren't even touching. One hand was flat on my stomach, light just like his lips, almost like he thought I was fragile. He trailed down my neck, kissing over the lace covering my tits, a tiny smile on his face as he started to pull the end of the tie. It seemed like he did it so slowly, and I barely felt the bow untie. I couldn't decide if I wanted to watch his fingers or his face.

I thought about the first time he'd taken my shirt off and how exposed I felt, and how incredibly fucking patient he'd been with me, how understanding. How he'd taken his own shirt off to make me feel less exposed; made me feel like I wasn't a complete fucking nutcase. How he made me realize that with him, I was just me, no act. I ruffled my hands through his hair just as lightly as he was touching me as he peeled the sides of the top back like he was unwrapping something. Goosebumps broke out all over my skin the second he moved to kiss between my tits, and he rested his chin there for a second—just like he had the first time he'd ever done this. And it struck me how different this felt now. He'd been seeking permission then; now there wasn't the need for that.

The first time his hands had been on me, it was like I couldn't even imagine the force of the sensation, and it wasn't like I was necessarily prepared any better now for the sensations, but it was different now. No less intense, but almost a deeper feeling. I think it was because I spent so much of my life not having full…ownership of my body—or not ownership really, but disconnection. Sure, I got off myself, and I had pleasurable experiences occasionally, but it was never with the purpose of being shared in this same way. And most times, it wasn't really for _me_, either.

Tyler was always so fucking _happy_ to be doing this to me. Moaning against my skin just as much as I was moaning from the feeling of his tongue swirling around my nipple, his hand palming and kneading my other. I could feel the wetness already between my legs, and he hadn't gotten below my tits yet.

This much _feeling_ always felt almost out-of-body. I had that a lot as a stripper—it was the same kind of non-ownership thing—but this was a completely different kind of out-of-body. It was the kind that was so intense, and the sensation so physical and emotional that it was just too _good_ to be real, you know? Like the actual, real feeling of his lips and his tongue trailing down the middle of my stomach was so fucking amazing, it couldn't be real.

Everything was so fucking intense, and still the pressure of his lips kissing over the tiny bow in the middle of the lingerie bottoms was so gentle before he slipped them off. He peeled them off slowly—his fingers so soft and skimming against my skin like he didn't want to stop touching me. I remembered how I couldn't watch him be so serious about fucking the first time, and how I couldn't find that at all funny this time. How I understood the _why_ behind the serious—the emotions behind it. It felt like my stomach was fluttering, and I couldn't tell yet if it was because of his touch or what I knew was coming.

Part of me wanted to tell him he didn't have to go down on me—but I wanted him to. I wanted that first feeling of his tongue on me—the wetness and the way his stubbly cheek was so scruffy against the sensitive part of my inner thighs. I wanted to feel his nose nudge up against my clit. It was amazing how I felt wanted and treasured while being seductive all at the same time. The idea that there could be both sides at all…

I wanted to feel his long fingers curl up inside me and make me come apart. I wanted to watch his eyes lock on mine and that mischievous little gleam, the satisfaction I saw reflected there when he watched me come. Because I knew it was the same one that was in my eyes when I did the same for him. And I wanted to taste him before he came inside me. I wanted him to come in my mouth before.

His fingers were rubbing my own wetness into my clit, circling it before they were pushing into my pussy, his mouth kissing my clit instead, the stubble above his lip making a whole new wave of goosebumps break out.

His fingers were still inside me when he came up to kiss me, his mouth covered in me, smelling like me. He licked at my mouth before we started actually using our lips, and I couldn't decide if I could like one over the other.

I started pushing him back, anxious to have him in my mouth, and made short work of every piece of clothing he was wearing like it was a fucking contest. I think I was a little eager about this part. But I wanted it so bad. I couldn't wait. If he was surprised, it was lost in all the moaning the second his cock was in my mouth. I ran my thumbs over the grooves in his hips while I swallowed him, and sort of loved the fact that he couldn't even keep his eyes open the whole time.

I wanted to feel the pulse of his release because I was gonna take it all. I wanted it all.

I wanted everything. Everything he wanted to give me.

He barely even finished when he sat up and pulled me into his lap to kiss me. The taste of him was still in my mouth and his mouth still tasted like me—it seemed incredibly fitting to me as he laid me down again, settling between my legs.

He was so sweet. He still asked me if I was ready. Like that final check just in case I wanted the out. Truth was I couldn't think of anything I wanted more right now.

He was still so careful, running the head of his cock through my wetness, coating himself before lining up. His first push was so amazingly slow; smooth and deep, but it felt like it took forever and not enough time all at once. The level of concentration on his face—I mean, I think I got it. Finally. Completely. I understood fully why he wanted this to be slow; why he wouldn't let me do it early.

We were only ever going to do this like this once. Just once. We could do it every day forever from this point on, but we'd never have this first again. And I couldn't have even began to pretend to know what this was going to feel like with him—and it wound up being better than anything I could have imagined.

He was so much bigger than me in every way but still had the most gentle touch I'd ever felt. The heat of him inside me, the way I wanted him even deeper, and wanted to arch into him and never leave again—I felt cherished. I felt possessed. I felt like I belonged here. I felt powerful but so did he—so many conflicting emotions. But it felt healthy, and that I could even make the distinction was mind-blowing.

He was so close. So much contact. And it was so…quiet. I think because we both didn't want to miss anything, wanted to catalogue every second. I wanted to remember every single second of him pushing in. I wanted to remember the way he shifted forward just a little bit more, buried so deep, closing the only space between us so that it felt like every part of my body was pressed against a part of him. I wanted to remember touching him, the way his muscles felt moving under my fingers, the way my legs felt wrapped around him. I wanted to remember running my thumb over where his heart was, the dark ink that spelled his brother's name. How I'd been nervous about even touching _that_ at the beginning, and how now it was something I wanted to touch every time. Of how that was a reminder of the first thing he really shared with me. A huge part of himself, a huge, vulnerable part. I wanted to remember the way I completely latched onto him, fingers and pussy both, everything so hot and wet, and the way he reached for my hands and how we both refused to let go once we had them. I wanted to remember how his eyes were never completely closed the whole time, and how I knew that because mine weren't either. I wanted to remember the way his lips felt against mine while we moved, and how sometimes we weren't even kissing, our lips just resting there against each other's, and how just breathing him in felt almost more intimate than the actual kisses.

His thrusts were so deep and slow and so much less physical—how did something feel like the most intensely physical experience but feel completely weightless and soft at the same time?

Coming felt like a complete full-body event. I've had great orgasms before, but this was just a level above all of them. And I think most of it was just _him_. Because watching him come, and feeling it with absolutely no barrier—I mean; there really wasn't anything fucking sexier on every goddamn level than that. The way he looked when he came—God, I don't even know what to call it. I don't think it has a name. I kind of felt like I was coming apart, but he was right there, and maybe it was just the opposite. The heat of his release inside me, the extra wetness, I can't really even describe it accurately. Everything felt charged, but in the best possible way—electric physically, but emotionally, too. It was like my feelings had emotions.

We kind of couldn't stop kissing. And I couldn't keep my hands off of his face. And he didn't care. He just kissed my fingers right along with anything else.

I was never this connected to someone else, let alone _myself_. I could feel him, and it was like I could feel what he was feeling, too, but I could feel everything about me, too. I felt so _aware_ of myself. Alive. He made me feel alive.

I cared enough about him. For him. More than anyone else in my life. But I cared about myself now, my body. I cared enough to get the lingerie, to dress it up. He cared enough to appreciate it and want to undress it. Naked had more than one meaning—I could be naked in a room full of people and not be _naked_. This was different. With Tyler, it was different. I was physically naked, yes, but I was also naked emotionally with him, and he was giving me the exact same thing. This was the last thing to give each other. The last thing to give completely. And it was giving way more than just condom-less sex. This sex wasn't just about me getting off, and really, that's what a lot of our sex had been about—what I wanted, or what I needed because I hadn't had it before. This though, now this was about both of us, together. There wasn't a more _together_ than this.

And I realized, I think he'd been giving me that from the beginning. So by me making this special for him, I finally felt like I was giving it back to him, like I understood. Like we were completely on the same page.

I've never given myself to anyone before. Not like this.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	41. Chapter 41

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One**

* * *

**TPOV**

Have you ever reached a point where you're sort of completely beyond all thought? I can honestly say it's only happened to me on a few occasions. And most of them weren't good things. There's a big difference between the kind of shut-down that happens when something is so bad you can't imagine anything else, and all thinking, all reflection, all attention just stops; and a state of sort of surreal, but incredible enhancement. Where all that thought just gets set aside. Or maybe it's more that all that thinking and reflection and attention is racing so fucking hard that it makes one thing easier to concentrate on.

That's what this felt like now. Different, but better. Enhanced. That despite the fact that my mind and body were quite possibly overloading with all the thoughts and emotions flooding everything, everything seemed calm and serene…

…as long as calm and serene were like the hugest fucking chaotic explosion of brilliant, terrifying, devotional energy ever.

I'm not sure what level of accountability a guy can be held to for things he might say during this state. No matter how true the things he's saying might be. There might be some unwritten rule that things uttered during or after the most incredible orgasm of his life are in some category all their own.

In a lot of ways, this almost felt like the first time we ever had sex. And of course, that was completely ridiculous because we had sex a lot recently. Like, _a lot_, a lot. So I don't know what it was exactly, or rather, I knew exactly what _it_ was, but… Jesus, guys in these states shouldn't attempt to compile cohesive thoughts.

_It_ was a lot of things. It was that I'd never had this with anyone else. I'd never gotten to this stage before. It was odd to think what was basically her first relationship ever wound up being my most serious and responsible one. It was the way she'd prepared everything for me, actually taken the time to think things out, or think things beyond something trivial and ordinary. Or that it was so ordinary and original and normal, but yet completely different. It was the way she looked at me this time. The way nothing was funny, and she was paced just as slowly as I had intended to be. It was the way she touched me. The difference between our first tentative touches, the middle and right up until last night when things were affectionate and tender—now her hands on me were damn near reverent, adoring—something much more like loving. There was a huge difference between affectionate and loving. It was the way she made me feel like she was memorizing every single detail. The way her legs wrapped around me, so tight and inviting, and the perfect balance of that adoring and loving touch with a needy grasp mixed in. How she could be everything I wanted and needed all at once, and made me feel like I was capable of giving that back to her.

I can't say that _it_ also wasn't completely tied to how this was going to end. It wasn't just about the staggering amount of intimacy, either. It _was_, of course, knowing she wanted to share it with me—the intensity, the emotionalism. I was her first everything. That she wanted me to be, was just… that I _was_, was just… I can't even begin to explain. But I'd be lying if it wasn't _just a little_ bit about the actual physicality of it, too. Because, I mean, there's really nothing _more_, nothing _better_, or _further_ you can take it. And I'm still a _guy_. So that's pretty much the best thing, the only thing that's innately that primal. I don't even know. How do you really explain the best thing ever?

Feeling her come on me, without any barrier, there was no possible way I wasn't going to come. And I wouldn't have wanted it a different way. Knowing that she could feel me coming inside her while I was feeling her come around me, seeing and feeling it together, and both of us getting swept away by it while still being totally present—complete brain disintegration.

I'm pretty sure it was the longest fucking orgasm of my life. And we're talking felt everywhere. I don't think there was one place in my body that I didn't feel the throb of my release, and anywhere I didn't, I could feel hers.

I was shaking. Totally, completely shaking. Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable, and if she did, she didn't say anything. But I also didn't mind the way her arms tightened on me either. And I loved that we basically never stopped kissing the entire time.

What can you possibly say after that? It's a moment one step farther than beyond all thought. It's a continuous, non-sounding hum.

She was smiling at me. Like, a gentle, placid, deliriously happy kind of smile in between slower kisses. I don't even know if I was capable of smiling at this point. I just knew that I was still completely inside her, and neither of us had made any attempt to move, and the only adjustment I made was so that we were that much closer which basically was only millimeters closer than we were anyway, and she was still completely wrapped around me, her hands in my hair and stroking my face, her fingertips curling under my jaw, her thumb running over my lips.

"I love you."

It kind of just came out. All that time I spent keeping it bottled up, I mean, I couldn't think of a better time really to say it, but I hadn't planned it. I just couldn't stop it anymore. Because looking at her right now, she couldn't get any more _mine_. And I couldn't get any more hers. It sort of seemed like some kind of unspoken official commitment. Not that we weren't committed before, or that I could see an _official_ commitment right now—not in _that_ sense, but I knew I never wanted to be without her.

Her face sort of registered this plethora of emotions. The smile was still firmly in place, but there was a little bit of confusion and shock mixed in there. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again.

"You don't have to say anything," I said quickly. "I mean, you don't have to say it back. I don't—that's not why. I just… I mean, I wanted to say it. Before. Already. A lot. But I didn't want to make you…" God, I should just stop the verbal drivel. I don't even know what I was going to say. Make her uncomfortable? Put her on the spot? Force something she wasn't ready to say to me?

"No, it's fine. I'm just surprised. I…I want to say it back, Tyler. I just…"

"You don't have to say it."

"I want to."

I nodded for a second before switching to a head shake instead. "That's not why I said it."

"I know. Just give me a little more time."

"Yeah, I can wait." Pretty sure I could wait forever for her. I would.

She smiled wider. "Tyler?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

I smiled back at her. "Of course. You're welcome." Pretty sure that was the first time ever that anyone had actually thanked me for loving them, too.

It wasn't something I said often. I could really only come up with family that I'd said it to. Or at least those were the ones I meant it when I said it. I think she knew that, though. It wasn't something I took lightly. It felt right with her.

"Thank you for tonight—for everything. The dinner and…" I smiled, thinking about the lingerie. "Did you have the lingerie? Or did you go try on a bunch of shit?"

She laughed, clamping on me in more than one way, which just made me want to hold her tighter, and I could, so I did. "I didn't have it. I went past the store on my way to get food for tonight, and saw a window display, and then I was pretty much trying on all sorts of shit."

"It was a great choice," I said, nodding and kissing her quickly.

"Thanks. I thought so. There is _a lot_ of sluttly lingerie. And coming from me, that's saying something. I liked the purple. It felt very me."

"It is," I agreed. "You know you wore purple on our first date…"

"I did?"

"Yeah, it was purple and black and strappy, with a V-neck."

"And you remember that?"

"I remember everything."

She smiled at me, soft and warm, pressing her lips to mine. It was the kind of smile she got when I was being sentimental and she usually called me a dork. She didn't this time, though. Settled on, "You do have a very good memory," instead.

"You didn't wear a bra either."

Her burst of laughter to that statement made her tighten on me again, and I couldn't stop the moan that time, kissing her again impulsively.

"I see why you remember it now."

"Mmm. We ate at that Chinese place on Lexington, and you were really difficult to talk to, insofar as you basically snapped at me or refused to answer any question I posed. Hostile even." I paused and then added, "And then you randomly asked me if I liked sports."

She ran her fingers through my hair, giggling. "Yeah, you stuck it out. But I did buy you pie and ice cream was not optional."

"Ha! See! You remember!"

"Of course I remember. I just don't necessarily remember the bra-less shirt I was wearing."

"Leave those important details to me."

"I have no doubt you'll remember the important details."

"I wrote to Michael about you that night."

Her head cocked a little to the side, but her hands didn't move from where they'd settled on my neck, playing with the ends of my hair. "You did?"

I nodded.

"What did you write to him?"

"Just that you were different, and really guarded, and I wanted you not to be with me. That I nearly fucked it all up but I wanted it to work because I thought you were amazing and great."

"I freaked out about what I should wear on a date. Jordan had a lot to do with what I wore. She also gave me conversation tips. The sports one—that was her."

I smiled at her admission, offering something to me, too. I loved how much that had changed. "What's your favorite color?" I asked softly.

"Today, I think it's purple."

"Good answer. Purple is definitely becoming one of my favorites." I shifted while she smiled back at me. "Do you want me to move?"

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly, smile still in full force.

"Can I look? Is that kind of moving ok?"

She changed to the same kind of slow nodding. "Yeah, that you can move for."

I didn't need to be told twice, but eased back, pulling out slowly, and watched as a rivulet of my come leaked out after me. I was torn with the idea of just watching it all leak out, or swiping at it with my fingers. She beat me to the latter, making a broad swipe and bringing it right up to her mouth, sucking me off of her fingers. I couldn't even… Speaking was not possible. And her grin was just… I couldn't even begin to fathom how much of a fucking turn-on it was just to know my come was inside her. But then to add her licking it off of her fingers after—when I hadn't even made that connection intellectually because my brain was basically five or ten minutes behind with my dick…

All I could think was how much I wanted to do it again. To leave more of myself there.

If her massively mischievous grin was any indication, her thoughts were similar. If I had any doubt, the simple utterance of one singular word put that to rest: "More."

Really, I think I lost count as to how many times and ways and positions "more" really meant.

The last time, before I fell asleep, I was behind her, spooned around her much tinier form, and I loved many things about this position. I loved that I could observe everything while still having access to most places, and I loved how easy it was. It was sensual without losing the sexiness. I could touch her everywhere, and still get deeper than a lot of other positions. She kind of had a thing for me taking her from behind, too, so that was just another perk.

My fingers had been rubbing over her clit, pushing her body to come with me. After the orgasms subsided, I kept a rhythm of lazy strokes for a while because I didn't really feel like being completely done, and there was never a complaint from her to pull out right after. I think we both liked the extended connection—the way it seemed like it was never really over.

When I did pull out, I think it was merely to satisfy a rapidly forming kink that I hadn't known I had. My hand hadn't moved from the general vicinity of her clit. She was too sensitive for actual manipulation right now, but I kept my hand splayed out over her lower stomach. It was only another small shift to drop my hand a little lower. Funny thing was, just as my hand was drifting there, hers was, too, and our fingers tangled together to feel the evidence of both of our releases. It was addictive—the knowledge, the feeling of the palpable stickiness leaking out of her. And I loved that she obviously found it so, too.

I really didn't want to sleep, but it sort of became a necessity at some point. It wasn't like it was difficult to do so being all wrapped around her; it felt like everything between us was intertwined. I loved her so much. I wanted to tell her again. I sort of wanted to tell everyone I knew, or didn't know. I didn't really care. I settled for pressing a kiss into her temple instead, loving the way she burrowed back into me.

~ooOoo~

**APOV**

I couldn't sleep. I don't think it was physically possible to sleep with this much shit running through my head. Tyler was wrapped around me, warm and solid and completely passed out, and it wasn't because there was a lack of appeal to sleep. But I couldn't turn my brain off. The last few hours just keep replaying like a recording in my mind. It wasn't a bad way to spend time; it was just the next best night in a never-ending series of them with Tyler.

He loved me. _He_ loves me. He _loves_ me. He loves _me. _

I couldn't remember anyone ever saying they loved me, or me saying it back. I never wanted to say it to someone, but I wanted to say it to Tyler. I wanted to say it back to him. God, what the fuck did I know about love, even? Did I love Tyler? If I wanted to say it back, did that mean that I loved him? Had I ever loved anyone? How do you know what that feels like? How do you know you're in love with someone? What does _love_ feel like? How did he know he loved me?

I didn't really think it was..._proper_ to ask. I mean, I couldn't just ask him to explain all of his feelings to me. It didn't seem like it was time to do that. He was sure; I could see it in his eyes just like I could hear it in his voice. He loved me.

I loved my mother; I knew that much. But she was my mom—kids love their moms. I think I loved my grandmother, too, but I almost remembered less of her than I did about my mom. It was a kid thing—a kid love. I didn't know what it felt like to love someone now. I still loved my mom of course, but I didn't know what that felt like as an adult. She was gone. I loved the idea I had of her. I never really got to know her. So I didn't know what it was like to love someone as an adult.

I just didn't know what to do with it. Or how to find out.

Did I feel things with Tyler? For Tyler? Absolutely. Did I have—I don't even know, attachment to him? Obviously. But was that love? How do you _feel_ that? How do you _feel_ love? How do you _know_? Is it just a belief thing? Like, I _thought _I did, so I could be? Was it about trust? I trusted Tyler. Was it knowing things about him that no one else did? I did. But if it was that simple… It couldn't be that simple.

I didn't know who I could even ask about it, because I really didn't think it was fair to ask Tyler to help me figure out if I loved him. I knew he'd do it, but I just didn't want to put him in that place. And I was sort of scared of the answer. Loving someone was kind of scary. It meant you were making a different level of commitment. And did I think that I was already at that kind of level with Tyler? I… Yeah, I did. I wondered if Tyler was scared to love me, too? People left him; they died—people he loved. Was it hard for him to love me? Or was it easier because he loved more people that I did? How did he get past that then to tell me anyway? What did it take?

I didn't want to say it to him until I was sure. I owed him that much. We'd always been honest. I wanted to be honest about this, too.

I snuck out from Tyler's arms, too restless now to sit still. I didn't want to wake him. I threw on one of his shirts and grabbed my phone, and went out into the living room, pacing while staring at it in my hand, willing it to give me someone to call. I thought about calling Jordan because she and Tyler seemed ok with each other, but I didn't know if that was something I wanted to talk to her about. I didn't have parents to call, or brothers and sisters. I didn't really have anyone else besides Tyler himself.

I think I sort of dialed without realizing.

"Hello?"

I swallowed once thickly. Talking had to happen now. "Hi."

There was a tiny pause before, "Allison?"

"Yeah, it's me." I smiled into the phone. "How…how are you?"

"I'm good. I'm good. It's been a while."

"I know."

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok."

Silence. We were such great conversationalists.

"Do you need help?"

Ever to the rescue. In a lot of ways I owed him a whole fucking lot. In a lot of ways I owed him my life now. Because without him, I wouldn't have gotten out of NOLA. "No…I guess I need…advice?" I hadn't really meant that to be a question. And God, it was probably really pathetic and sad that his first reaction after how many months of no contact was to just automatically assume I needed help. I also panicked, looking at the clock suddenly. It way so fucking early—I was kind of shocked he even answered. He didn't seem at all put out though, so I didn't bring it up.

"Oh." There was another pause. "About what?"

"Are you still in love with Lois?" _Jesus Fucking Christ, Allison_. Way to just barrel in with no fucking warning. If I could have shown him my forehead slap, I would have. He probably heard me do it anyway. If the silence after said anything.

"Um…"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just… I don't know. I'm sorry."

"No, it's ok. I'm just a little surprised. Um…" He sighed. "I think love changes over time."

"Ok." That wasn't really the answer I was looking for. Fuck. Did I even know what I was looking for?

"No, I mean, I love her, yes. I'm still in love with her."

"Ok."

"What's this about?"

"How do you know you are?"

"Know I'm what?"

"In love with her."

He chuckled. "Allison, are you in love with someone?"

"I dunno, I dunno. I dunno how it's supposed to feel. Or how I'd know. How did you know you loved Lois? How do you still know? And what do you mean 'it changes?'"

"Well, ok. Let's take them one at a time."

"Ok."

"So, I'm not sure how anyone can really describe feeling in love. I think I loved Lois after our first date."

"How?"

"Well, I don't know exactly. I mean, I guess, I just felt differently about her right away."

Ugh. "_Felt_ how?"

He sighed, thinking a minute. "She walked in the door, right? And my stomach, ya know, flipped kinda. She made me nervous as hell, and I thought she was the most interesting person I'd ever met. I kept getting tongue-tied and I couldn't think. And I couldn't stop thinking about her after I dropped her off."

I was thinking. Thinking back to the first time I ever met Tyler. And I sort of forgot Doug was there for a second.

"Allison?"

"Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking back."

"Is that… Did you have that, too? Or…"

"No…not really. I mean, he was different. Kind of." I laughed a little to myself. "He was kind of a cocky asshole."

"You fell in love with an asshole?"

I blew out a laugh. "He's not really an asshole. I just thought that when I met him because he was cocky and didn't seem… I don't know how to explain it really."

"Now who's the one that can't explain? _How_?" he mimicked.

"Shut up," I said, teasing.

"Try to explain. Maybe we can figure it out."

Yes. Good. Figuring it out with someone was good. "Um, so yeah, I wasn't that impressed when I met him. He was very confident and I wasn't really comfortable anyway, but my friend had dragged me to this stupid bar… He made me nervous. And I never knew what to do. I never really dated anyone before…" I trailed off, pausing. I trusted Doug completely, and I wasn't afraid of him being judgmental, but editing that first…well everything, was probably necessary. I just skipped ahead. "Anyway, he's actually pretty great."

"What makes him 'pretty great?'" Doug parroted back to me.

"He's sweet, and thoughtful, and he's the most patient person in, like, the entire world. No one has ever treated me the way he does. Or no guy, anyway."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah, it's good. Actually he's pretty much the only other person than you to be decent to me. Care about me."

There was silence on the other end for a second, and then he cleared his throat. "I do care about you. A lot."

"I know."

"Does he know what you do for a living?"

"Yes."

"And he's ok with that?"

"I don't think he likes it, really, but he doesn't tell me what to do. Or that I shouldn't have a job. And he knows that it's just a job for me."

"And does he know about your past?"

"Yeah, he knows about that, too." Neither of us said anything for a minute. "He kind of reminds me of you sometimes."

"Oh? How's that? Did he force you to buy sheets and get dressed?"

I laughed. "No, I had that all covered after your lessons."

"Glad they worked for something."

"Yeah, me too."

"So, how does he remind you of me?"

"He cares. He makes me want things for myself. And he doesn't ask for anything back. He accepts me for just me. I've never had that before. Just…unconditionally, ya know? You were the first person that didn't want something from me. He's the first person that's just wanted me for me. He's unbelievably understanding and he never judges me."

"Those are all good things…" he trailed off.

"So how do you know? How do I know if that's love?"

"Well, I mean, I guess what I asked myself, or what I knew, was that I didn't want to be without Lois. Once we started dating, I didn't want to be anywhere else. I wanted to be with her all the time. And we didn't even need to be doing anything. I just wanted to be with her."

"I just want to be with Tyler, too."

"Tyler, huh?"

I was smiling, and I think if he'd been standing in front of me, I would have been blushing. I have no idea why. "Yeah, Tyler," I said back quietly.

"What does Tyler do?"

"He's a student. And he works at a bookstore."

"What's he studying?"

"Um, well…I don't think he's really figured that out yet. He just takes classes that interest him."

"Hmm."

"What does 'hmm' mean?"

"Nothing, just covering my bases. Making sure I approve and all."

I chuckled. "How's he doing so far?"

"I dunno yet. I'll tell you later."

"Fair enough." I was smiling into the phone, and I could tell he was, too.

"Can I ask you something?" he said after a beat.

"Yeah, of course."

"What made you call me and ask?"

"Well, I mean… I didn't know who else to call. I couldn't think of anyone else to ask…" I trailed off, wondering now, if I shouldn't have called, or if I was bothering him.

"No, no. That's not what I mean. I'm glad you called. I wish you'd call more. I worry about you."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I meant what brought on the asking? Why did you question this now? Have you been seeing this Tyler guy a long time? You've never mentioned him before."

"It's been— " I stopped to think a minute before continuing, "around six months, I guess." I stopped and then started again, "Seems like it's been a lot longer than that."

"So…this is…this is serious then?"

"Yeah, I think it's pretty serious."

"Right, and you're wondering now if you love him?"

"He told me he loves me." I suppose I should have mentioned that earlier. Probably would have made this easier for him.

"Got it." He was quiet for a minute, but I was sort of lost in thought myself.

"I've never loved anyone before, Doug. How do I tell? There should be a fucking checklist or something."

He chuckled. "Well…"

"I want to say it back."

"Ok."

"But I want to mean it. I've never felt like this before so I don't know what to call it. I dunno if what I feel is love."

"Well what do you feel?"

"Shit I've never come close to before. Everything. He makes me feel everything."

He was quiet for a second and then, "I guess the only thing I'd be worried about is that this is basically your first relationship, you know? You have to be able to tell if this is just attraction or lust, or if it's something…more. So, yeah." I could tell he was sort of hesitating, but he pushed through it. "Allison, I guess I'd just make sure that it's not about sex and the way you feel physically. That's not love."

I was smiling at the way he was trying to be so… I mean, he'd seen me at one of my worsts—and I had several—so it wasn't like we couldn't be blunt. "It's not about sex. I mean, sure, it is, but…that's not all. That's actually pretty new. I told him at the beginning that I hadn't dated really before, and I knew that throwing sex in at the beginning would make it too confusing, or whatever you want to call it. He was—he is—incredibly patient; and he never pushed me. It was always my decision, which made it the complete opposite from when I was hooking."

He chuckled. "You almost sound like an adult."

"Fuck you," I said, but my tone was completely light and affectionate. "I trust him, Doug. I don't trust people at all. And I can talk to him about anything. He knows everything about me, and still wants to be with me. And I feel the same way about him." I sighed. "He makes me feel safe. And I feel like I'm myself with him."

I got the feeling I was making him think a lot with my call. Maybe this wasn't something I should have expected him to just answer on the spot. Maybe I should have laid out my problem and he could have gotten back to me. I'd never been overly share-y about anything. I never just called Doug to chat. Our conversations were usually pretty short, and almost like I was checking in so they knew I was still alive. It was very…distant, I guess. It was me; I kept it that way. This almost felt parental. And I didn't want to put Doug in that position really. I basically left NOLA to avoid he and Lois putting themselves in that role. I wasn't looking for him to be my dad, but at the same time, I was asking him for something that went beyond what I usually did.

Did people even talk to their parents about relationships like this? Did they talk about sex and love? Was that a normal thing to talk about? Maybe it was odd for me to ask Doug in the first place, in any role I was putting him in or he was assuming.

I started chewing on my thumbnail, waiting for him to say something. I didn't even notice when he actually started talking again.

"Allison?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"How old is Tyler?"

I chuckled. "He's 22." I didn't need to be next to him to see the quick but firm nod he made to that statement. "I totally should have fucked with you there."

He laughed back into the phone. "Yeah, if you wanna give an old guy a stroke, sure."

"Tyler's really a Wall Street lawyer I met on 32nd Avenue, he owns a penthouse, and he's 39. I think I'm in love."

Laughter barked over the phone. "I'd be on the first plane if that was the conversation we were having."

"Yeah. No worries."

"I can't tell you what you feel, you know? I can't really tell you that you're in love. I think that's something you just know. And I realize that's a shitty answer, but there is no one else that can tell you that."

"Yeah," I said, sighing. I figured that. Just would have been nice if someone could have given me the answer. "Thanks, anyway, Doug. For listening."

"For what it's worth…I think the fact that you called about it all says pretty much about how you feel. You've never called about it before. So it was important enough for you to pick up the phone. I dunno, I think you already know the answer. I think you just wanted someone to bounce it off of."

I sighed again, but happier, easier. I think that's pretty much exactly what I needed to hear. "Thanks, Doug."

"Allison?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm _really_ glad you called."

"Me, too," I said back, and I really meant it.

"I don't just mean… It was really nice that you thought to ask me."

I didn't want to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal that I called him; I didn't have anyone else to call. But I didn't want him to think it was complete desperation that had me dialing, even if that was a tiny bit true. He was literally the only person I thought of that could answer it for me. "You were the only one I thought of," I said instead, hoping that was a good way to tell him without all that other shit.

He cleared his throat. "You should call more. We like hearing from you anytime, of course, but…it'd be nice to hear from you more. Just to let us know you're ok. Or I could call you…" He left it hanging there for me to allow or not.

"Yeah, that'd be ok. I'm sorry I don't call more."

"No, it's fine. Just nice to hear from you."

"How are you guys? I didn't even ask with my, just, blurting questions."

"We're good. Thinking we might need to take a trip to New York."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, we haven't been in years, and it'd be nice to see you."

"It'd be nice to see you guys, too."

"Yeah, and if your boyfriend happens to be available, we can have a little chat, too."

I chuckled. "Oh, that was very sneaky there."

"I thought so."

"Well you let me know when you want to have a little chat with Tyler. I'll give him a heads up. But it'd be great if you guys came out."

"I'll talk to Lois and then give you a call."

"I'll talk to you soon then."

We said our goodbyes and I was left to more thinking on the couch.

The idea of Doug meeting Tyler was sort of unreal to me. Like my past and present colliding. Not that it was a bad thing, but it was just something I'd never had before either. Lots of that going around. I never needed love advice before. I suppose these were actual positive problems to have—also something I never had before. For once my life didn't revolve around shit situations. And it was nice to have someone you could call; maybe that was a change I could keep up—calling Doug more.

I was still lost in thought when Tyler padded out of the bedroom in his boxers, yawning and still looking tired, hair a mess, but still with an air of freshly fucked. It looked good on him. He looked really happy.

"Whatcha doin' out here? Why are you not in bed with me?"

I smiled, shaking my head. "Just couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you."

He plopped down next to me. "Hmm." His head rolled on the cushion. "It's almost morning. You tired now?"

"Nope." I shook my head again. "I think I'm kinda wired now."

"Wanna watch the sun come up? It's pretty great from the roof."

I mirrored my head on the couch like his, and nodded. "Sure."

He grabbed a blanket, and my hand, and we wound up sitting like we had on the fourth of July—huddled under the blanket, on a lawn chair, me sitting on his lap.

It was that time of morning where it gets kind of light out, but it's all blue-purple before the first sun hits. This city never really slept, and there were already people up early; the regular street noises sort of soothing in their repetitiveness. We just sat for a while, not talking, just cuddling, and for all his talking and thinking, I loved that Tyler could be silent, too. Especially if it was something like this—where just being together was all we needed. It was really all we ever needed.

He pressed a kiss to my temple, a silent way of breaking the silence before he asked, "You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok," I answered quickly, nuzzling into his face. "You?"

"I'm good. You seem a million miles away."

"Just thinking."

"Something I should know about?"

"No," I started; leaving it open-ended because I wasn't sure exactly what I should tell him. I didn't want to just spill my guts about my entire conversation with Doug.

"You have any regrets about last night?"

"What?" That definitely wasn't the impression I wanted him to have. Maybe open-ended had been too much like a question. I quickly said, "No. Of course not," with lots of head shaking. "I'm just thinking about a lot of things. Good things."

"This about what I said last night?"

"They're all good things I'm thinking about," I said, in a way that was final. I mean, it totally was about that—but not for the reason he was assuming now. I didn't want him to have regrets for saying it at all. And I wanted to say it to him so badly. I had everything Doug had said filtering through, and trying to sort out my own thoughts between them—how Doug thought I knew the answer. And I think I did, too. I just wasn't sure what to do with it. I didn't know just how to say it. How do you do that? Do you just blurt it out? Does it need some kind of introduction? Tyler's was perfect. How did you make it perfect? When was the perfect time?

"Aaaaaand…" He stretched out the word, not stopping until the first rays of the sun peaked out, "this marks the first morning after condom-less sex."

I giggled at him. "You're such a dork." He let me off the hook, though. Either not wanting to push me or assuming I was still processing.

"What? It's true. Brand new day. New everything."

"Isn't that every morning?"

"Not in the same sense."

I let my head roll back and forth slowly on his shoulder.

"What?"

"Nothing, you're just really fucking sappy."

He tickled me. "And that's bad?"

"Stop it! No, it's not bad. Just…you're really fucking sappy," I repeated.

"Would you rather me grunt and roll over?"

I snorted. "No. It's nice."

"Ok then," he said, and I could tell he nodded in that smug, 'yeah, I'm right,' kind of way.

It was really beautiful—the first rays of the sun and the warmth—warmth washing over us, warmth behind me, his arms tightening, thumb rubbing over my stomach. I sighed. Tyler who loved me.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	42. Chapter 42

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! Reviewing is probably the kindest thing you can do for an author, so they're much appreciated.** There have also been some really, truly, amazingly great reviews lately. Thank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Two**

* * *

**APOV**

It was the photo strip that did it. You know those super cheesy ones you get in the photo booths that have four pictures for five bucks? Tyler had pulled me into the booth in this dive bar that we'd gone to—Aidan's idea, of course. Like, we're talking dive to the extreme, but it was still kinda cool. It was a tiki bar in the East Village, and had live music, which had been the motivation for going, and they were a truly awful band, if you could call two people a band at all. Bad backroom music and heavy level of grime aside, the place had still been fun and cool in a loud and tasteless way (basically Aidan's heaven), and having to sit on Tyler's lap just to carry on the smallest of conversations hadn't been a bad way to spend a night. He insisted on a silly picture, a serious picture, and whatever for the other two. I wasn't sure we managed silly, but we both certainly looked ridiculous. The "serious" picture actually turned out pretty well; we were both smiling, looking at the camera, and neither of us blinked right before it went off. The last one was basically when we said fuck it, and started making out, which had been a direct result of the third picture, and I think that one was my favorite. Tyler had suddenly tickled me, because he was a dick, and he did that a lot, and his face was full-on smile, really fucking happy and pleased with himself, and I was somewhere between annoyance and irritation and the kind of happiness that comes from Tyler being a dick and tickling me. It was just a _real_ moment. It looked more like _us_ than the "serious" one.

I hadn't really seen the picture since we'd taken it, but I caught a glimpse of something stuck into the corner of one of the pictures of Michael on the bookshelf in the living room. There we were, there _I _was, keeping company with Michael on the bookshelf. The pictures there never moved, never changed, were never touched; Tyler's version of a memorial. There weren't other family pictures; this was Michael's bookshelf. And now I was on that bookshelf. That was sort of huge. I looked around the rest of the room. My jacket was over the chair. My backpack that I carted clothes back and forth to work with was next to Tyler's by the door…

I mean, I basically lived here. There wasn't even really a basically about it—I lived in Tyler's apartment. So it wasn't really odd that there would be stuff from me around. But…it was really obvious that I lived here. I hadn't redecorated his apartment or anything like that; it wasn't like a "woman's touch" was suddenly here or any of that bullshit—I hadn't put a doily over the crate in the living room that served as a coffee table. I did put dirty dishes in the sink, though, and got rid of pizza boxes in a reasonable time period after pizza was ordered. And the bra hanging over the back of his chair and the women's clothes lying in various parts of his room sort of screamed _girlfriend stays here_. The tampons in the bathroom, the candles in the bedroom, the extra pots and pans that were in the cupboard, the birth control pills that started living on the counter right next to Tyler's travel coffee mug (Because, really, why was he buying coffee every day from the damn coffee place when we could make perfectly good coffee right fucking here in the apartment?); they were all markers that I lived here. All ways he let me just slot myself right in. He cleaned out drawers and part of his closet. He made room for me—in his room, in his space, but in his life, too.

The door to the apartment literally bust open, and Tyler walked in talking like he'd started this conversation at the bottom of the stairs or something—except he was talking to me, and I completely missed the beginning because he was talking so fast. I finally got, "…so fucking hungry. I didn't eat lunch and then right before I left, this asshole would not accept that we did not have the book he was looking for. And I was seriously losing my temper and _thisclose_ to fucking popping him in the mouth, and oh, my _GOD_, he was short." He kissed me quickly, continuing, "Like, we're talking hobbit-short, he was so fucking short, and nasal, and an asshole, and did I mention the asshole thing? I really want falafel. Can we go to that falafel place down the street? 'Cause we had sushi last night, and I know you love sushi, but I really want falafel. Is that ok?"

I must have nodded. I can't even remember if I actually said anything.

"Great, lemme just change and we can go."

And then he was gone down the hall. I followed him, and he was still half-talking to me, telling me about the asshole-hobbit. By the time I got to the door, he was already changed and had just sat down on the bed to change his shoes. He wasn't even looking at me; he was just talking, his hands gesturing in between tying one shoe and starting on the other.

"Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He finished tying his shoe, which only needed the last pull for the bow, and his head came up, and he was smiling—not a huge-ass smile, just a little one. "I love you, too."

He made room for me in his life in every way, big and small; from drawers and closets to decisions. He protected me, he didn't judge me, and he showed me what affectionate meant, and what love was. This was love. This was us. We lived together, and we were committed to each other, and he respected me. I loved him. I loved him from dorky photo booth pictures, to hot dogs in the park, to ice skating and favorites, to gyno exams, to beating up landlords, to movies on the couch and days just spent in bed fucking until we fell asleep again. I loved him.

I crossed the room quickly, stepping right up to him between his legs, tipped his head, and took his face in my hands…and got so fucking lost in the kiss. If I wouldn't have just said that I loved him, I think he would have known in the kiss anyway. I didn't even notice that he pulled me into his lap until we pulled back, and I loved that it obviously meant the transition was completely normal now.

The same smile, the little, easy and just incredibly happy one was still on his face, and his eyes were so bright. I really don't think anything I could have said would have made him happier. I was still holding onto his face, and I ran my thumb over his lips, let my fingers trace his eyebrows and above the right one was the scar from the night we met. It was faint and not really noticeable if you didn't know it was there already, but it had been the start of everything. I traced it gently and dropped my gaze to make eye contact for a second before I leaned over and blew over it—that soft reminder of how we got to this point. He knew instantly what I was doing, and his eyes closed, his hands tightened on me and pulled me into a hug. I couldn't really hold him any tighter, but I did anyway, pressing a kiss into his hair. "I love you," I whispered again.

He pulled back and the smile was maybe _just_ a little bigger. "I love you, too."

I smiled back, running my fingers through his hair. "So, falafel, huh?"

"If that's ok."

"It's great."

"We don't have to go out. We could stay in."

"I thought you were hungry."

"I'm starving, but I don't really care anymore. I could eat something else. Or I could just be hungry. I'm ok with that, too."

I chuckled. "Was it something I said?"

His smile was no longer anything resembling small. "It might have been. I could just start removing pieces of clothing right now. I'd be happy with that. We could order pizza later."

I shook my head. "I think we should go get food. And we can come back then and remove clothing."

"Why? Doing it now is a way better idea."

"Nope. I seem to remember someone giving me some big speech about waiting and making things better. That it will be more special later."

He scoffed, and sighed, and whined. "Seriously? You actually listen to my bullshit?"

I laughed. "Sometimes." I eased off of his lap, pulling him along. "C'mon. Let's go get you fed."

He pouted for all of two minutes. Then we got on the street where he became incredibly happy again.

And he announced to complete strangers that I loved him. Like the poor lady he held the door for when we got to the restaurant. I assured her he wasn't dangerous; he was just really happy. I think she took it more to mean he was on drugs, or we both were, but as he just kept announcing it to people, it didn't really matter. He told the hostess, the busboy, the table next to us, and the waitress—twice.

I _think_ he was just a little bit happy that I told him.

"Did you even taste of the falafel?" I teased him when we hit the street.

"Falafel? We had falafel?" He smiled back at me.

He grabbed my hand, and I pulled on it, making him stop, and leaned on my tiptoes to kiss him quickly.

"Mmm." He deepened the kiss, backing us up until we were out of the way of traffic on the sidewalk, and then we pretty much were making out in the street. He was such a bad influence. With all his happy love shit. I basically had no resistance or willpower.

I nipped at his lip as I backed up, resting my forehead against his. "We need to get home."

He nodded, and grabbed my hand again, our speed just a little faster than before. I didn't realize until we started walking again that I was also referring to his apartment as my home, and he hadn't corrected me either.

He was pretty much chasing me up the stairs when my phone rang.

"Don't answer it."

I slowed, checked the display. "Fuck. I have to; I'm sorry." I turned the phone for him to see the _Yev_ on the screen.

"Don't—"

But it was too late, I'd already said hello. The look I got was somewhere between annoyance and defeat.

He was leaning against the kitchen divider when I hung up, a small smirk on his face. "I told you not to answer it."

"When the boss calls, you kind of have to answer."

"No, you really don't."

I rolled my eyes at him, pressing my lips to his quickly while passing him. He followed me, arms going around me from behind as I surveyed the mess that was our room, kisses already landing on my neck.

I leaned into him for a minute, but the pushed back with my hips. "I have to do laundry quick."

"What?"

"Laundry. I have to do a load of laundry. I have to work tomorrow now."

"And you have to do this _right_ now?"

"If I don't do it now, it won't get done. It'll only take a few minutes."

He huffed, and let go of me, face-planting on the bed. "Fine," he said to me, all muffled into the pillow.

I fought with myself not to laugh. "I'm not going to do all the laundry. Even though you never do laundry, and your laundry pile is so huge and old, that the stuff on the bottom is probably either clean or needs to be burned. But I need a few things for tomorrow, and besides that, I've been out of underwear for the last three days."

His head jerked up. "You haven't been wearing underwear for the past three days? Why did I not know you weren't wearing underwear?"

I laughed at him. "I'm going down to the laundry room."

He literally ran after me, grabbing the basket. "I'll carry that."

"You don't have to carry it down, Tyler. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"No, no, I got it."

I snickered at his sudden eagerness to do laundry. Because it was bullshit. I knew him too well. "You're awfully excited about laundry all of a sudden."

His smile was adorable; also cocky, and smug. "Laundry can be a fun activity. Lots of bonding. I love laundry."

I nodded. "Uh huh. What kind of bonding are you thinking we're going to be doing?"

He shrugged. "Never know. Laundry can take a long time."

"Guess you're not as annoyed I took the phone call now, huh?"

He stopped on the stairs, and I stayed a stair above so that we were almost level height. "Well, I mean, I can only assume this laundry excuse was for my benefit. Even if you did take the call. You had to know telling me that was going to be, like, an instant turn-on. If you didn't, you were sorely underestimating me. That was totally a come-on. An invitation for fucking over laundry." He shrugged. "People who love each other do that."

I kissed him, nipping at his lip again. "I do love you. And you pretty much have an open invitation all the time."

"I know!" He kissed me again quickly. "It's great!"

I laughed as we started down the stairs again, and he grabbed my hand. Like fucking in the laundry room was literally the best thing ever.

"I could make so many jokes right now," he said when we got into the laundry room.

I smirked while checking to see if there were any other people that had laundry going, but it didn't seem like a popular activity for the night. "Such as?"

"Well, I can't come up with any specifically _now_. But if I did, they'd have something to do with spin cycles, agitators, water levels, loads; I mean, the possibilities are endless. Not to mention the dryer."

I picked the shortest cycle and started the water, dumping half a capful of detergent in. I hadn't even started putting clothes in yet when I felt the warmth of his body pressing up against my back. Not that I didn't love that, but... "Tyler, I have to actually get the clothes in the washer, or this isn't going to work very well."

I tried backing up to bend and get more clothes, but he was crowding into my space, and again, not unpleasant but rather unproductive. So I shoved my ass back into him, which didn't have the effect I wanted it to. He just pushed back all happy I was into it now. So I did it again, shoving him enough that he had to take a step back and then went back to putting the clothes in.

He growled, frustrated, and rubbed a hand over his face. It was cute how frustrated he was. It wasn't like I was making him wait hours or anything. I just had to get the rest of one basket in there. I threw a few more pieces in until he made another noise.

"Fucking Christ, woman, dump them in! What are you doing, like, one article at a time for? I'm trying to have sex with you!"

I laughed when he totally reached around me, grabbed the basket and dumped them all in. He dropped the lid so it slammed and basically echoed loudly throughout the entire basement.

I squealed then when he lifted me up onto the washer, not exactly expecting it. Yet, I was more than happy to curl my legs around him and pull him closer once I was there.

His hands were framing my face, his smile contagious and he was obviously very satisfied at getting the job done faster.

"Was that really necessary?"

"At the rate you were going? Yes, if you still wanted to fuck today."

I tightened my legs around him and pinched his arm.

"Ow!" He let go of my face, and I smirked and pulled his head forward instead, silencing anything else he was going to say. He moaned into the kiss, his hands curling around me, his breathing picking up the minute I broke away and started for his neck, licking over his jawline on my way. I stopped over his throat, biting down just above his Adam's apple. He grunted, but I licked over the spot gently right after, and then went back to his neck. Since he hadn't made any move to stop me, and hadn't said anything either, I decided to see how far he'd let me push it. So I did the same thing to his ear, and totally got away with that one, too. In fact, I think he was kinda getting off on it; his hands kept flexing on me and pulling me closer. I went back to his mouth, biting his lip until he pulled back.

Bet I was being attentive enough now to the task at hand. "This workin' better for ya?" I whispered into his ear.

He licked his lip before touching it quickly. "Did you pick up a biting fetish?"

"You complaining?"

"Nope. Just don't bite my dick."

"Didn't think we were gonna get to the blowjob stage here. I thought you were gonna fuck me. Or was I wrong? Do I have to bite some more to get you to do that? This laundry isn't going to wash forever."

I squealed again when he grabbed me suddenly and dropped me down to the floor, already working to unbutton my jeans and shove them down. "You know you could wear skirts more," he said while pulling my underwear down along with them.

"Fuck you with skirts. What, now you have a problem with the way I'm dressing?"

"I don't have any problem with the way you dress. I'm just saying it would make this easier."

I considered that a second and then started laughing at him while he sat me back on top of the washer. "Oh, fuck." The coolness of the machine on my bare skin was more than I expected, and my exclamation really did nothing to stop him. He didn't bother to take my tank top off, just pulled down a strap, exposing one tit to the cooler air. It made my nipple harden immediately, which was probably only half the temperature, and half just him. I reached for his pants while his tongue swirled around my nipple, wondering why we didn't spend more time hanging out down here when it was so fucking hot.

I pushed his jeans and boxers down, forcing him to stop mouthing over me long enough to pull his T-shirt up and over his head. He kissed me the second the material was forgotten and dropped on the floor, my hands running over his chest and resting flat on his stomach, the muscles twitching under fingers.

He didn't check to see if I was wet, and I loved that. He pulled me closer and lined himself up, sliding in easily. My legs hooked around him again as he started to thrust, leaning into me, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the washer for more leverage.

Above his lip, sweat was breaking out, and all I wanted to do was lick at it. So I did—grabbed his ass, and pulled him into me, holding him there while my tongue darted out to swipe at it. I loved that I could just do that, and I loved the saltiness that exploded on my tongue. The moan he let out at the combination of both sensations was great, too, and I sort of loved screwing with his thrusting rhythms that way. He turned my licking into his own intensely tongue-filled kissing, his forehead all scrunched in some mixture of agreement, concentration, and happy frustration.

So why stop then?

I scooted closer to the edge of the washer, leaning back on my elbows, and parted my legs wide. I think he assumed I was switching positions, and I was, but the minute I spread wider, his eyes dropped immediately from watching mine to watching my pussy instead. I was so wet, I could feel myself opening for him, and if there was a better fucking invitation, I couldn't think of one.

Guys were visual, but it's a complete lie if women say they aren't, too. The view for him was good; the thought of watching his cock come in me from this angle? Mind-blowing.

We were sort of pushing each other here anyway, so I was basically only upping the ante. "Well?"

His eyes tore back up to mine, but slowly like he didn't really want to.

I motioned to his cock. "You gonna do something with that? Or—" was all I got out.

Pretty much all bets were off then after that. His hands came up and held my legs open further, and he pulled me damn near off of the washer; it felt like my ass was hanging off. I suppose it said something about the level of trust I had in him that I wasn't at all concerned about it. Or it could have been because his cock was literally slamming inside of me and I couldn't have given a shit less if he had dropped me. We would have kept fucking anyway.

Being able to see it just added something. And we did look pretty fucking hot if I said so myself. I don't think he disagreed as his eyes hadn't moved much from watching where we were joined. And him holding my legs open further just… It was lusty and probably incredibly porn-y, but there was something really—I couldn't even think of an appropriate word—hungry perhaps? The rawness and need and possessiveness and want there just matched everything I felt about him. Things we didn't need to say.

"Ok," he breathed out. "We have to switch positions. My balls do not like the washer."

I giggled, shaking my head. "We don't want the boys to be damaged, no."

He eased out and picked me up, setting me back on the ground. "Turn around."

"Oh, fuck, yes."

The first was fine, really good, awesome. Always. The second? Him slipping into me from behind and my clit grinding into the washer? Way better. Even if it meant that I had to lean up so fucking far, I was damn near on my tiptoes. The load was just starting to rinse, the vibration kicking up a notch as the water flooded in to rinse the detergent away. The sounds of the water churching, sloshing while he slammed into me, my clit grinding into the vibrations of the washer—all I wanted was more.

There was no one in here. There were no other machines running. The chance of someone coming down was probably not that great. But there was still this idea that they could. That at any moment, someone could walk in door, to see Tyler pounding into me, and me giving it back just as good as I was getting it.

I wasn't paying attention. Tyler wasn't either. We wouldn't hear someone. By the time we'd notice them, if we did at all, it'd be too late.

What look would be on their face? Shock? Horror? Amusement?

I wasn't sure I cared which it was, or if one was better than the other.

I grabbed onto the back of the machine, shoving myself back on him as he thrust forward, his hands pulling my hips back to him. I would never get enough of him. Ever. Of this. Of everything.

"I can't even begin to tell you how fucking sexy you look right now."

It was panted, and I really couldn't even respond with all the motion going on. It was like over-stimulation—I felt almost off balance. As off balance as you could when everything seemed intensely right in the world.

Then he fucking stopped. Pulled out and everything. "What—?"

He didn't say anything, just spun me, picked me up and sat me on the washer next to us. I was going to ask more what the fuck he was doing until he climbed up on ours and held out his hand for me to sit in his lap. The load stopped rinsing with a final loud whoosh as the drum stopped and the water started to drain completely. "C'mon."

I scrambled into his lap, wanting him back inside me. I wasn't exactly sure how moving was going to work here. I didn't care anymore about actual thrusting as long as he was inside, and curled my legs around him again, tight, connected. It was completely fucking obvious that thrusting wasn't necessary the second the final spin started. The machine itself was rocking under us, and the shaking went straight through his body to mine.

He pulled other strap on my tank top down so both of my tits were exposed, pulling me closer so they smashed against his chest. The room no longer felt cool, and all I could feel was heat everywhere—from him, from the washer, even the air itself felt like it was feeding off of us. I held him to me, his hair damp while my fingers tangled in it, his chest sweaty, mouth at my neck, breathing more damp and weighted air over it in a choppy rhythm. He moaned long, and loud, his body shuddering as I started coming with him, the vibrations toward the end of the cycle carrying right through his cock, like it was a fucking vibrator.

"Fuck, I love you." His arms tightened around me.

"I love you, too," I said back, running my hand through his hair again.

"I can say that now, right?"

"Of course you can."

"I didn't want to say it a lot if you weren't there yet."

I stroked over his head, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair. "You could have."

"I didn't want to make you think you had to say it."

"I wouldn't have said it until I was ready anyway."

"Still, I didn't want you to feel pressured."

"You can say it whenever you want."

"Good." He nodded gently against my chest.

The machine sputtered to a stop, and I made no move to go anywhere, but then he didn't either.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing my neck.

"I love you, too, Tyler."

~ooOoo~

We may have fucked in the hallway when we got back to the apartment…

And pretty much made it to the bed after that—sacked out on our backs, lying next to each other, smoking our way through too many satisfying cigarettes. I passed it to him, flipping onto my side. "Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do we get dressed?"

His head turned to look at me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, why do people even get dressed or have jobs and actually go to them? Why don't we just fuck all the time?"

He smiled and then started laughing. "Well, I guess if we didn't do those things then we wouldn't have a place to fuck."

"No, but seriously."

He was still smiling, but he was trying to be intent on my problem here.

"Like, there is nothing better. Nothing compares. And I think about you all the time. I always want to fuck you. There is really no point to having a job, or getting dressed, or anything else at all. It's all pointless. We should never leave this apartment. Not even the bed basically. We should live in this bed."

"What would we do for food?"

"We'd send Aidan. Obviously. Or order in. We wouldn't need clothes, so we wouldn't need to go out to buy any of those. Think of all the money we'd save. It'd probably pay for itself."

"Us fucking would pay for us to keep fucking?"

"Yeah."

"That's kind of a cracked logic. Beautiful, but cracked."

"Seriously, how do people just live out in the world? How do they do that? I dunno how to do that now. The thought of going back to work and leaving this bed is horrible."

He chuckled. "Um, I think it's not always this good."

"What does that mean?"

"I mean, I think we're very…invested in it right now. It's not always like that."

"What does _that_ mean? The fuck? Sex with you is always good."

"I don't mean our sex isn't good. Or won't potentially always be. I mean out there, people don't necessarily have good sex lives. So they don't feel the need to never leave their beds."

"Well that's just stupid. How can your sex life be bad? If you're having sex?"

He gave me this look. And I rolled my eyes. "Ok, ok, fine. Fine. I understand that if they don't have _you_, then their sex lives might be bad. But if you're trying at all, come _on_. It's gotta be pretty good."

"Well I have yet to stop trying."

"So you're going to stop trying? You're going to ruin our sex life?"

He laughed again. "No, I'm not going to stop trying. It's just very new and we haven't gotten tired of it yet."

"Who would get tired of having sex, Tyler?!" I think I asked this in the completely horrified way in which I was thinking about it. "Are you going to get tired of having sex with me?"

"Jesus. No. I'm just saying—with some relationships, sex is the reason they're together. If you get bored with that, or it's not doing for you what it did before, then they have nothing else to base the relationship on. Our relationship isn't based on just sex. We have other things."

"I cannot even begin to imagine not having sex with you regularly. Regularly as in all the time."

"I can't imagine not having sex with you either. You asked why people get dressed and go to work. They do because they have to pay for the places they live in, and I dunno, it's not as important to some people. I was just trying to answer the question."

"You're being way too fucking logical about this. You have a dick. You're supposed to think with it. Why are you arguing with me about having a job to pay for your apartment? We could be having sex already. You weren't supposed to answer the question. You were supposed to just agree with me and then fuck me to prove your agreement."

He blinked at me for a second and then moved faster than I anticipated; flipping me on my back, his mouth over mine before I even had time to be surprised. When he backed up, he was smiling. "I apologize for being overly logical and almost derailing sex. I'll fix that."

I giggled at him as he slid down the bed between my legs, his hands caressing all over my thighs. He looked up at me, just breathing over me, and if his intention was anticipation, he definitely succeeded. By the time he made his first lick, I was about to grab his head and start directing.

Ya know, they say (Also…who is "they" exactly? The blowjob experts?) the key to a successful or enjoyable blowjob isn't really what you do necessarily, it's your level of enthusiasm. I think the same should be said for going down on a girl. Because really, I could care less what Tyler's actually doing as long as he's into it. And he's never disappointed yet. I mean how can it be bad _at all_ if you're into getting the other person off?

The awesome thing about Tyler (well, one of many) is that he takes cues really well, and if he knows I'm liking something or it's was working, I think he would stay there until his tongue and fingers fall off from exhaustion.

After he started with the licking—large, full strokes with his tongue—he knew when to keep at something if I liked it or when to switch it up if I needed a different kind of stimulation. And he always uses everything he has—always. Lips, tongue, fingers; any combination and pressure of all of them.

He switched from licking to light kisses, nibbling and biting over bits of my skin, gently sucking my lips into his mouth while using his tongue to lap after. He had skills. Bottom line.

When I was basically squirming against his mouth, he stopped suddenly, and licked me slowly, just once, bottom to top, before flattening his tongue, covering all of me, but keeping it absolutely still. It was one of those change-ups that threw me, but the minute I moved again, it became completely obvious how awesome it was. His eyebrows simply went up, and I could tell he was smiling against me, and basically, this was like me being on top during sex.

I could push or grind myself onto his tongue, and use the pressure any goddamn way I wanted. "Fucking hell, you're a genius." I really, _really_ hadn't meant to say that out loud, but the chuckle he let out just vibrated through my pussy and made me moan some more, and the mischievous and winning look in his eyes just added something even more. He kept moaning into me, too; the beat of it only making the stimulation greater.

He pulled back long enough to say, "You taste so amazing, baby. Never get enough of it." Like the taste of me was what was driving him—I mean, I cannot even describe how completely fucking hot that is. I couldn't even respond verbally. I just let out my own set of moans, pushed myself into him more, and ran my fingers through his hair in what I hope he knew was supposed to be my response.

When I stopped grinding on him for a second, breathless and hot, he took over, sucking my clit into his mouth and sliding his fingers in me at the same time. It was like a rush of stimulation right after pushing myself there. And then he stopped again, his tongue flattening to let me take over. The only difference was he kept his fingers in me this time, and I started coming almost instantly.

He usually brought me down from orgasm, stayed between my legs and dragged it out until I was basically a shaking mess. But he moved just as I was starting, which was strange, until he was slipping inside me, and it was like the orgasm doubled; the feeling of him was great enough, but his cock was also much better to clench on than his fingers. And instead of letting me ride out the orgasm with him just inside me, he started thrusting right away, and I really couldn't wrap myself around him fast enough. It felt amazing. He felt amazing. _I _felt amazing with him.

While the orgasm lessened, it sort of felt like it wasn't really going away, too. Like with the feeling of him sliding into me, it just kept the level raised because he never pulled away then. And I didn't want it to stop. Seriously, we never needed this to stop. We could just stay here with it forever.

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop." I think the only way we were louder or our groans were raspier was when he was fucking me.

I'd just told him not to stop. And he did. He just fucking stopped. "Why did you stop?" I asked; all breathless and kinda pissy because I wanted him to keep going.

"I won't ever stop trying. I promise."

How did he do that? Be completely fucking me into oblivion one minute and then be amazingly sweet and incredibly sincere the next? It was some fucking talent that was for sure.

"I would never ruin our sex life."

He smirked through that one, so he was teasing me, but the promise was still there.

He pushed in hard and deep, back to fucking me into oblivion. And I just kept saying, "I love you. I love you," over and over. I think it was mostly grunted through his thrusts, but it completely fucked up his whole hard and deep thing, or all thrusting completely.

He had to stop; just rested against me. I touched his face, his breathing still panted; the ends of his hair damp. "That kinda gets ya, huh?"

He nodded against me, his head pressed into mine. "Just a little bit."

"Just a little, yeah." I pushed at him gently. "Flip us."

He rolled us easily, and I started moving on him quickly; hard, just like his thrusts had been. I wouldn't ever stop trying either. And I think he knew I meant that right then.

"Can I ask you something stupid?" Maybe the stupid part was slowing sex down to actually ask him, but I did it anyway.

He didn't seem at all bothered, though. "I'm sure it's not stupid, but yeah."

I kept moving on him anyway, but gently, slower.

"What? What is it? Ask me."

"Do you like the sounds I make as much as I like yours?" I'd all but stopped moving, but edging us along enough not to lose it.

A second ago, he had that concerned little line right in between his eyes—the one that was waiting for a big question that he had to worry about. Or worry about me. His face lightened immediately. "That's not stupid. And yes. I love all the sounds you make. Every noise. And the way you move. I love everything. Everything."

"Me, too. I love watching it."

"I do, too."

"And knowing I did it."

He smiled. "I know. I do, too."

"It's not, like, a power trip thing. I just like knowing that I made you feel that way. And that it feels good."

His hand came up, moving hair behind my ear. "I know."

I nodded, satisfied and happy that he knew what I meant and felt the same way. I started moving faster again, pulling him up against me, one hand on the back of his neck, the other flat against his stomach. Sometimes I think when I pulled him into this angle it was more for me than it was for him. I could grind my clit into him better, but he never seemed to mind the positioning.

Right when he was coming, I kissed along his neck and whispered, "I love you," into his ear.

We're talking full-body shudder attack. I don't know if it was the whispered way I did it, or if it was just that affecting to him, but damn. I made a deal with myself then that I needed to tell him I loved him every time he was coming. Because he completely fell apart. And it was sort of beautiful to watch. Even better than just his normal orgasm. Maybe it was the added emotions with it or something.

He pulled me flush against him, lying back, and one of my favorite things has become lying in his arms with his hand running through my hair, my head on his chest, my hand next to my head, feeling his breathing and listening to his heart slow down. It's funny to think a few years ago I knew nothing about this, knew nothing like it. I don't know how I lived without it before. And a lot of times I don't want to think about a time before Tyler anymore.

"No one's ever said that to me and meant it," he said quietly after a few minutes.

"What do you mean?"

"During sex. People throw love around like it's something to be used, and it's not. No one's ever meant it when they said it to me."

I picked my head up, resting my chin against his chest so I could look at his face. He was still looking up, but I knew he felt me move. His eyes moved down slowly to look at me. "You mean it. That's why. That's why it…" he trailed off, waving his hand quickly.

I grabbed the hand and kissed his knuckles. "I don't need to tell you I've never had that before. I love it, though. From you. And what it does to you when I say it. I love it."

I hadn't let his hand go, and he pulled me up to kiss him. "I love you. If we ever leave this bed, and I keep saying that in public, we're probably going to be one of those couples that people roll their eyes at."

"I'm ok with that."

"Good. Me, too. And next time before I do anything else, I'll ask if the question is rhetorical. So I don't almost ruin our sex life again."

"Rhetorical," I repeated. "Does that mean it doesn't need an answer?"

"That's right. It's a question that's used to make a point."

"So…" I struggled to come up with something.

"Like…'Are you sure?' That's a rhetorical question. Because if someone is asking it—you've already given them an answer. Make sense?"

"Yeah, it makes sense."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

I blinked at him. Because his tone and his voice was totally—he was mimicking me. "What? I don't say it that often."

"Those fuckers want me to work tomorrow, too. Are you fucking kidding me? They have no granola bars! Are you fucking kidding me? I can't get a Diet Coke? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Really?"

"Like 200 times a day totally isn't often."

"I really say it that often?"

"Can you believe that?"

He was such an ass; all smug and smirking and eyes all bright and happy and mischievous, and asking me another rhetorical question to my rhetorical question. "You are such an ass."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

I laughed. I mean he was really fucking cute.

"Why are there locks on the doors of convenience stores that are open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year?"

"You are such a dork."

"Do pilots take crash courses?"

"Tyler…"

"Do fish get thirsty?"

"Tyler."

"If you have nightmare in the day, what do you call it?"

"Do annoying boyfriends get laid?"

"Point taken. See how that works? You totally got it."

"Why do you love me?"

"Duh."

"Was that rhetorical?"

"I guess if I were being technical, you could make it more rhetorical with: 'You love me, right?' or something to that effect, but I couldn't really give a shit less."

"You wanna get laid again?"

"So smart, my girl. Such a fast learner."

"We should spend more time down in the laundry room, I think."

"Laundry's probably sitting down there in the dryer. Just waiting for us to come and get it."

"Too bad I have to work tomorrow. We could do more…laundry."

"That really is a shame."

"Guess you better fuck me again then, huh?"

"Yes." He nodded at me, but neither of us moved.

His arms were locked around me, our faces so close; all I had to do was dip to kiss him. "I love you."

He cocked his head a little to the side. "Don't bite me, but can I ask you something?"

"You didn't like that?"

"No, I did."

I closed my mouth over his chin gently; not a bite at all really, and kissed right after it. Yeah, he liked it. I moved back to watch him again. "Ask me."

"How did you know?"

I didn't need him to elaborate. I knew what he meant, and I knew what he was feeling. I felt it, too. "How did you?"

His smile was slow but amazingly bright. The breath he let out seemed more of a sigh, and it was just as content as the way his face looked right now. And happy. Tyler happy was an intensely bright and remarkable thing.

"Me, too," I answered, even though our conversation had been largely nonverbal. That was ok. Sometimes that said more.

"Yeah."

It wasn't a question; it wasn't really a comment, either. It was sort of just a reaffirming of everything about us in the simplest way.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	43. Chapter 43

**************************************So basically, laurafc1107 is the reason this chapter is being posted today. Because she renewed my faith in humankind today with some really awesome reviews just because. So everyone has her to thank, because otherwise I probably would not have posted this week. Thank you so much, Laura! **

* * *

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Three**

* * *

**APOV**

I felt like I'd been on a high since I told Tyler I loved him, and for most of the last month we spent our time acting like two idiots in love. But strippers keep really odd hours, so it was normal for me to make it back to Tyler's apartment in the really early morning. Most nights when I got there, he was already sleeping, but he'd stay up sometimes or I'd find him waiting on the couch, half-conked out or whatever. I was surprised when I got home and he was completely awake.

"Tyler?" He was just sitting in the chair in the living room, sort of staring off into space. He wasn't facing me, and didn't say anything, and I don't think he really knew I was even there. I dropped my bag and went over to him; thinking maybe seeing me would help, and fluttered my hand through his hair, down his face and neck to rest on his shoulder. "Baby?"

He seemed to snap out of it slowly, his head rising a little in my direction. "Hey."

He reached out a hand, and I moved closer, dropping to sit on his lap. Something was off; wrong. And I couldn't remember him telling me that anything was going on today. "Are you ok?"

He didn't say anything. I kept my hands on him, trying to comfort if that was necessary. "Tyler? Did something happen?"

He just let me touch him. He didn't answer me.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head slowly. "Can I ask you to do something for me?"

"Of course." He had to know I'd do anything I could for him.

"Will you fuck me?"

Not what I expected, honestly, because that was such a simple request, and one he didn't need to ask for at all. "Of course," I said quickly. I mean, was he kidding? He never really asked me that before. It was something we just sort of assumed. It happened regularly, hell, daily a lot of the time. The novelty hadn't, like, worn off. He seemed relieved I said yes, which was just even weirder. "Come on," I said, moving to stand, and grabbing his hand, pulling him with me.

He moved easily enough, and I pushed him towards the bedroom. "Get into bed, ok? I'm gonna turn the lights off out here."

When I got into the bedroom, he was just sitting on the bed, facing me, but head down, shoulders slumped, and now, he was really starting to worry me. I wanted to ask him about whatever was going on, but I knew he wasn't going to tell me anything right now. He definitely wasn't in a talking mood.

I sat down next to him, touching his face. He hadn't taken any clothes off or anything, he wasn't telling me anything he wanted either. I kissed him softly a few times, finally reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt. "Arms up," I said quietly, peeling the shirt over his head. I'm not sure I could classify his expression or his mood. He was very…blank. Or numb. Not typical Tyler.

"You wanna lie down?" I finally asked, my eyebrows arching.

He moved without saying anything, just easing back and looking up at me. I pulled my shirt off, losing the bra, too and laid down with him, half of my upper body on his. He seemed to be ok with touch, so I kept doing that, kissing him gently. I don't know what I expected really. He wasn't normally like this, and I really didn't know what to do for him.

"What do you need? Tell me what you need."

"I just want you to fuck me."

"Ok, I can do that." I didn't ask anything else, but it just seemed like something else was necessary. Not that just getting right to it wasn't fine, it just seemed like—or maybe I just wanted to do something else for him first. I took his shorts off, and the rest of my clothes, too, while wondering about what else I could do. It was the simplicity that bothered me. Like if something had happened that he was this upset about, or it was making him not-Tyler-ish, that it would deserve some other introduction.

"Do you want me to blow you?"

I didn't even get a verbal response to that, just a quick shake of his head.

"You just want me to get on you?"

"Yeah."

I nodded, and just eased him inside me, waiting for some kind of clue as to what he wanted me to do for him. I moved on him slowly, touching his face. "Baby, I want to do whatever you need. But you gotta help me out a little here. Tell me what I should do for you."

He really gave me nothing back. I mean, he wasn't unhappy; I knew that much. But he was still just blank. He wasn't giving me any direction. I moved on him for a while, varying the speeds and waiting for him to get frustrated or bored, or anything—just an indication of something. Finally, I sighed. "Tyler, you're so much better at this shit than I am. I don't know what to do for you. You always know what to do for me. What I need. Help me. Tell me what I should do."

He sat us up, shaking his head. "I don't… I don't ask you to tell me what you need. I just watch. I just watch and I do what you need."

He was getting mad now. Or not mad, just…upset. Frustrated. I didn't want that. That was part of the problem already. He was pissed or frustrated or hurt or mad. And he was right. He didn't ever ask me what he needed to do. He just watched and learned. I could do that for him, too. Because I didn't ever know what I needed. That's what he was trying to tell me. He didn't know what he needed. That's why he couldn't tell me. He picked it up for me as we went along when the situation was reversed. He read me well—that was how he knew.

His hand came up to rub over his eyes, like a headache was starting, or he had it all along. "Just… I'm tired. Let's just go to bed."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I want to do this."

"Please just get off. I can't do this right now."

"You don't have to do anything. You're right." I grabbed the hand over his eyes, turning his face so he was looking at me. "You're right. You don't ask me. You just watch, and that's how you know. I'll do that. I can do that."

I hadn't convinced him yet. And I think he didn't want to make me uncomfortable, or ask me to do something that I hadn't… I dunno. I just know I hadn't convinced him. He started to move us again.

"Tyler."

He stopped at his name, looking at me.

I started pushing on his chest, easing him back. "I'll take care of it. Just lie back."

He let me, still watching, gauging. But it was better than the flat out refusing, or trying to move me off of him.

He was thinking, too. Too much—and all the time, the thoughts just running—I could see that now. That was part of it—maybe distraction was what he needed because his thoughts were too distracting and consuming to start with.

I was probably fumbling through the entire thing. It wasn't as easy as he made it look. Or I wasn't as good of a people-reader as he was. Or he was a better _Allison_ reader than I was a _Tyler_ reader. It wasn't for lack of skill or technique; I mean I knew every fucking skill or technique that was out there. It was more of a silent, physical conversation that I wasn't the more talented side of. Tyler _was_ better at this. He had more experience with people. I tried to watch his face for what it might tell me: if he liked something, if I was moving too fast, too slow, too hard, too soft. He wasn't overly choosey tonight, and I think that was part of the problem. I knew what Tyler liked. I knew what got him off. But Tyler himself was different, so it was sort of confusing from the start. And it wasn't that he didn't like what I was doing, or it wasn't getting the job done, I just knew he was still _off_. So it didn't much matter if it was hard or slow or rough or soft. The changes didn't work; he wanted consistent, so that's what I wound up sticking with. Everything in between; not fast or slow, or rough or soft, just the same pace, same pressure. And he came, so it wasn't a matter of not being into sex—he'd asked for that.

It was just odd. Not bad. Tyler could have off nights, too. I just wished I knew what the cause of it was.

He was just as quiet after, so it didn't seem very likely I was going to find out tonight. I stayed close to him, and eventually he moved gently to sit against the wall, grabbing the pack of cigarettes that sat on the nightstand. He offered me one, but I shook my head, watching him while still lying down. He smoked in silence for a while, still completely lost in thought. I considered asking him about it again, but think-y Tyler was a dish better left served when Tyler fucking decided.

"Caroline had that art show thing tonight," he said quietly. It seemed sort of sudden, but we must have been sitting there for the better part of a half hour in silence.

If life had music that randomly played like movies, a dark and sinking theme would have started when he said that. I sat up. "Oh, fuck, Tyler. I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

He was smoking like a chimney, one right after another.

"You should have said something."

"I did."

I racked my brain, trying to remember when he said something about it. It had to have been something small he said in passing. There was no way I would have forgotten that. "When did you tell me?" I didn't say it like I was accusing—just asking.

He blew out smoke and basically killed the cigarette in the ashtray. His memory must have been much better than mine. "I told you twice." He said this all clipped and angry. When I didn't say anything back, he just kept going. "I told you once when Caroline told me about it, and I told you once on Monday, too. Then that fucking Russian called and you said you had to work, so I didn't say anything again then."

I closed my eyes for a second, sighing. "Was Caroline mad?"

"Caroline doesn't get mad. She just gets disappointed. Which is basically what our family has been like her entire life—just one big disappointment after another. My father never showed either, so it wasn't like your presence was missed. I mean if her own fucking dad can't show up, what's the difference then if her brother's girlfriend does."

"You should have told me again."

"Why? What difference would it have made?"

"What do you mean?"

"Forget it."

"No, seriously, what?"

"I wanted you there. We were supposed to have dinner with my father. And instead, I had to have dinner with him alone. And then watch as he cut out and went to a fucking meeting instead of his daughter's show. Because his job has always been more important than his family."

"Baby, nothing is more important to me than you. You know that. You didn't tell me about dinner. I know you didn't tell me about dinner. You mentioned Caroline's show; that I do remember, but I know you never said anything about the dinner. You should have reminded me about the show. You know I would never skip that. I didn't mean to."

"Does it matter? Does it matter if you don't mean to? He never means to. That's what he says. Or that it couldn't be avoided. What does that mean even? That it can't be avoided? It can always fucking be avoided. You just say you're going to be somewhere, and you're there. How hard if it to just fucking show up? Even if you didn't stay. You could still fucking show up. That's all she needs. How do you fucking avoid your own child? How do you do that even? When you already lost one! I mean it's bad enough he fucked up Michael and me, but wouldn't you think he'd try harder with his youngest? That he'd at least make an effort? Instead of being even more of a fucking absentee father? And she was so excited. _So_ excited that we were all going to be there. And he ruins it. He ruins everything."

Shit. This was more than just Caroline being disappointed in her father not showing up. I was probably just an extra disappointment, but I didn't think she'd probably hold that against me too badly. I'd only done it once. The bigger problem here was Tyler. Tyler was disappointed. And honestly, there wasn't really a worse feeling. Physical pain healed, words sunk in and they might have planted themselves deep in some place that hurt, but you still moved on. You eventually forgot most of it. Disappointment was harder, bigger. It was harder to get over. That feeling was draining—like it sucked the hope right out of you. And making that up. Fuck. It was much harder. I'd done the same thing to Tyler and Caroline that their father had done. Only with Caroline, I knew I could make it up. And it would be pretty simple. Making it up to Tyler was something different.

He kept switching between anger and just…he looked so defeated, and _hurt_. Everything he was saying about Caroline, about his father not caring enough to show up—he was saying it about himself, too. These were all just repeated things that he'd experienced himself.

He lit another cigarette, the anger back. "I almost hit him." He took a quick drag, smirking.

"Hit him? When? At dinner?"

He shook his head, the end of the cigarette disappearing in cherry flame at a really amazing speed. "After he bailed, and I went to the show, and I had to tell Caroline—because it's always someone else that has to tell her; that has to ruin it, and taint it, because he doesn't have the balls to do it himself—she left. She left her own fucking show because it just didn't matter anymore when the one person you want to show up doesn't bother to come. So I went to his office, and interrupted the really important meeting he had to have during his daughter's art show."

"What happened?"

"I wanted an answer. I wanted to know what was so important, and why he insisted on letting his daughter believe that he didn't even like her."

I didn't say anything, didn't ask anything else, because the anger was bubbling right there, and it was better if I just let him get it out.

"They shouldn't have stopped us."

He said it so…lowly, and with this edge of cold to his voice, I wasn't sure exactly what he meant. "Shouldn't have stopped you?"

"He was going to hit me. And I was happy to return the favor. His meeting lackeys stopped us. Kept us apart until I left."

"Why was he going to hit you?"

"Because Charles Hawkins doesn't like to be called out for shit he does wrong. And definitely not in public, in front of people that are under him. And because I was right."

"What did you say?"

"I said a lot of shit. It doesn't really matter. It won't make a difference." He didn't even wait after his current cigarette was gone; he lit the next one with the old one. He was back to the defeat part, the anger leaking away for the moment.

"Tyler, I would never put my job before you. I want you to know that. But you're right—I never say no to working—and when Yev calls, I don't say no. I think part of it is because I know what he's capable of. But working has always been the thing I did. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I forgot. You shouldn't have had to remind me, either. It was important to Caroline, but it was important to you, too, and I'm sorry. I should have been there. And I should have been there for dinner with your father, too. I'm sorry you had to do that alone." He didn't say anything, so I kept going. "I'll call Caroline tomorrow. And maybe she and I can do something. Just the two of us. To make it up to her."

He crushed the cigarette out, blowing out the last of the smoke. "She's not mad at you. It wasn't you. It was my father."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Mad at me."

He let out a long breath. "No, not really. I mean I am and I'm not." He shrugged. "It's hard to be mad at the one person that you want around to fix it."

I smiled. "Did I fix it?"

"No, but it helped."

"Should I help again?"

He smirked.

"You can be mad, Tyler. I understand." I waited for him to say something else but he didn't. "Just be mad. Why don't we fuck again? It'll help. Be mad and fuck it out."

He snorted, blowing smoke out in a puff before putting the cigarette out. "Is that a slogan?"

I shrugged. "Whatever helps. I can take it. Whatever you need."

He put his head back against the wall, shaking it slowly back and forth. "I don't want to fuck you while I'm mad. Or mad-fuck you. Whatever you want to call it."

"Why not? Angry sex can be good."

"If you're having a fight, sure. We're not fighting. You're not mad at me."

"How do you know I'm not mad at you?"

His eyes narrowed. "Ok, are you mad at me for something?"

"I'm sure I can come up with something if you want to have angry sex."

He chuckled. "No, that's ok. I don't want to use sex to not be mad at you. It just doesn't feel right. Seems kinda backwards."

"Even if I'm giving you permission?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to use sex to get over anger. Not at you. Not like that."

"So are we not having sex again then?"

"I didn't say that."

"So then what kind of sex are we having?"

"Does there have to be a kind?"

"Just trying to be helpful. It'd be easier if I knew what you were looking for." I held up a hand. "But I can just wait and read you instead."

His smile was small, and kind of sad. "I shouldn't have said that. I was just frustrated. And I didn't feel like helping or making it easy."

"And you didn't know what you wanted or needed," I offered.

He swallowed, considering, his head moving back and forth slowly. "Maybe, yeah."

"It wasn't wrong to say it. You do that for me. It's not wrong to ask me for it back."

"Still wasn't very nice."

I let out a breath. "You don't have to be nice 100% of the time. You are allowed to have other emotions. Even negative ones."

"I am?" He pretended to be shocked

"Yeah, even if they're directed at me. It's cool."

"Thanks for the pass."

"You gonna fuck me now?"

He nodded. He looked tired. "Yeah, ok."

~ooOoo~

He's actually pretty funny. He's amazing and wonderful and apologizes for asking me to read him like he reads me. But when it comes to something that I know will help, and he just thinks it's not right, he's one stubborn motherfucker.

And again, even with a gazillion other things on his mind, the boy can still fuck like a champ. No complaints on this side. But he was also completely transparent because the sex he was supposed to be having to help him get over his frustration and anger—he was completely absent for.

Body's there. Mind's not. Which is sort of half of sex—sometimes more.

What was funny was that he basically was fucking me like I fucked him the first time. All the right motions, and sure, it'll get you off, but none of the relief that's not purely physical because he wasn't really there enough to let it go.

"Baby." I grabbed his face.

"What?"

"You're totally spacing out. And that's not going to help you. If I ask you to trust me, will you try something?"

He closed his eyes for a second, and then nodded. "Yeah, ok."

"I want you to pull out."

He looked confused, and sort of hurt, but he did it anyway.

I kept him looking at me, holding his face. "I want you to stop thinking. Stop thinking about everything. Stop trying not to be mad at me. Stop trying not to be mad at your father. And stop trying not to take your anger with your father out on me. Because we both know that's the real reason you don't want to fuck me like you really want to right now."

I stopped for a second and let that sink in. 'Cause he was a boy. And boys are frequently slow on the important messages. Plus, I was reading him really well here. So he should take a minute just to appreciate that.

"Stop everything. All thinking. Which I know is near impossible for you."

He blew out a short laugh.

"Can you do that?"

He nodded.

"Ok. Push back in. And when you do, you are not allowed to think about anything. Just fuck. Whatever you feel like. Without thinking about it."

He let out a breath, and it was slightly shaky, but he was trusting me.

"I know who you are, Tyler."

I'm not really sure why I told him that. Maybe because he was still afraid even if he was doing this because I asked him to. It worked though.

I forced him to keep eye contact with me at first. Until I was sure he wasn't going to start thinking in the middle, then I let him go, so he could let go himself.

The difference was completely obvious to me. I don't know if it was to him or not. But the minute he stopped thinking about everything, and stopped trying to not let that affect what we were doing, it was like night and day. Absent Tyler vs. Present Tyler.

"Good. That's good, baby."

"Just fuck. Don't think about anything else."

I suppose that was sort of crazy—forcing him to stop thinking so he could fuck mindlessly in order to resolve feelings he had while thinking too much… But it worked. Because sometimes physically releasing without the mental bullshit could lead to the mental bullshit being released along with the physical.

He looked completely wrung out and exhausted after he came, but the fact that it worked was all that mattered.

I moved up the bed, holding my arms out to him. "C'mere."

He moved slowly up to me, his body landing gently on top of mine, his lips pressing against mine just as gently. "I love you," he whispered. "Thank you."

"I love you, and you don't have to thank me. Especially not when I was part of the problem to start with."

"You're never a problem. Frustrating? Yes. Annoying? Yes. Demanding? Yes."

I pinched him while he smiled at me softly. "You sure now how to make points with a girl."

"You help me fix everything. That's all that matters."

He rolled off next to me, pulling me back against him, my back to his chest, which was sort of always our go-to when either one of us needed comfort. It was safe and warm and close and it felt intensely _right _and _us—_always.

He looked tired, so I wasn't really anticipating anything, but I couldn't say I was really surprised either when he kissed my shoulder and parted my legs to slip back inside me. This spooning position and sex that happened with it also sort of became our go-to for comfort sex. It was deep and intimate and slow and gentle and usually meant resolution or it was one of those sleepy, soft kinds of sex that occurred on a pretty regular basis. I think we both just liked the affection and intimacy with it. I loved how it felt to have his whole body in contact with mine, and how his arm always pillowed my head. I loved the free range of his hand, and how he could touch any part of me easily.

It told me that he wasn't really mad at me anymore, and we'd be ok, and he'd be ok eventually, too.

His breath was so shaky afterward. I turned in his arms, and the second I saw his face, moved so that I could hold him. He cried for a while. Caroline being hurt by something hurt Tyler, too. And when the person hurting her had done the same to Tyler, it just added another whole level to an already massive amount of shared family pain. It was Tyler at 6, Tyler at 12, Tyler at 15, Tyler today.

I didn't ask him if he was ok, because I knew he wasn't, and he didn't need me to ask that. He just needed me to hold him, and be there.

He fell asleep quickly then. And I stayed awake thinking this time, running my fingers through his hair.

I needed to make some decisions. For me, but for Tyler, too. If I was in a committed relationship with him, I couldn't strip forever. It really wasn't fair to him. He needed to know that I was making choices with him in mind, for both of us. I needed to find a different job. I had no idea how I was going to do that, because stripping was all I'd ever done, but…I had to figure it out. I'd have to talk to Yev. Or maybe Anatoly was a better way to go. And I'd have to tell Jordan, too.

I think this had been coming for a long time actually. I hadn't really been _into_ stripping since I met Tyler. It'd been just a job so long, and it's not something you get off on after a while. It's a means to an end. But the days of actually enjoying the job (did I ever really _enjoy_ it?) were long gone. I just didn't want to do it anymore. And while I knew he didn't like my job at all, he never asked me to stop. He never demanded that I quit because we were in a relationship. He hadn't given me an ultimatum and made me choose. And he wasn't asking me to, here, either. He was just frustrated. And if I was honest, so was I. The job wasn't something that you could be invested in for a long time. I probably lasted longer than a lot of others just because I'd never really come to any realization about wanting to quit for myself before.

~ooOoo~

"Anatoly? Have you got a minute?"

"Of course, katyonak."

"Um, I don't really know how to say this."

"Just spit it out. Give it to me straight."

"I can't strip anymore."

He blinked at me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I just can't do it anymore. I have to quit."

"And what will you do?"

"I don't know, but it can't be stripping."

"Is someone telling you that you can't strip?"

"No, it's something I have to do for myself. I can't strip forever. It's not exactly a career, ya know?"

"I suppose not, no."

"I mean, would you want your daughter to have that as her profession?"

"My daughter will never strip."

"I'm not sure how to take that, exactly, but I'm guessing no."

"You know that's not what I meant. I understand what you mean."

"Right, so…I'm hoping you might tell Yev for me. Or smooth things over. He doesn't like things that aren't his idea, ya know."

He smiled at me. "What will you do? For a job?"

"I have no idea."

"How will you live?"

"I'll figure something out."

He nodded, thinking. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"I'll wait to tell Yev that you're quitting. Instead you work the tables fulltime. There are other things to do in this club."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Hours aren't much better. Tips probably suck compared to what you're used to. But it's something."

"Ok, I'll try it."

"Good. You start tonight."

~ooOoo~

Waitressing? Lasted about two nights. I just couldn't do it. The assholes treated the waitresses like they were strippers anyway; just with clothes on. They still felt like they had free license to touch your ass, or cop a feel, and it was just not going to work. Not unless Anatoly wanted assault charges to deal with on a nightly basis, or food dumped over those asshole's heads.

The second night, he pulled me aside, and said, "Why don't we try bartending again, katyonak?"

I nodded, sighing in a really relieved way. "Thank you."

~ooOoo~

I hadn't told Tyler. I wanted to have a plan in place; a job in place when I told him. Just the idea of it wasn't enough for me. So I told him my schedule like nothing was different. He'd nod or grunt or otherwise acknowledge, and I knew he was annoyed and frustrated with it, but he never told me what to do.

We were having dinner one night when I decided to tell him.

"I quit my job three weeks ago."

His head came up, eyebrows all scrunched in confusion, fork halfway in mid-air. "What?"

"I quit. I quit stripping."

He sat back in his chair, the fork falling back to his plate. "So what have you been doing when you tell me you're going to work?"

"I've been trying other things."

"Like what?"

"Waitressing. Bartending."

He looked at me for what seemed like a long few minutes. "Why?" he finally asked.

I came over, sitting on his lap. "Because I can't be a stripper and be your girlfriend. Not anymore. It's not fair. And I know it bothers you. And actually, it bothered me, too. Because it's yours. And…it wasn't. I mean, it obviously was different, but…" I trailed off, trying to come up with what I wanted to say. I thought I had this conversation in my head with him a thousand times, but it just wasn't the same when it was time to have it. "I love you. And I don't want to be a stripper and be in a relationship with you. Not anymore, anyway. I dunno, it's different now. I feel different about the stripping. I have for a long time. And you need things, too. Things that I should care about—for you, but for me, too. So I needed to stop."

He was trying not to smile, and only halfway succeeding. "I mean, I'm not going to say I'm not ecstatic."

"It's ok, you can say you're ecstatic."

"I'm ecstatic."

"I know." I chuckled.

"Do you like waitressing and bartending?"

"Waitressing lasted two nights."

He laughed.

"Anatoly moved me before I dumped a plate of food over some asshole's head. Bartending is ok. Having the bar between you and those assholes is nice. And you get fewer complaints."

He nodded, watching me for a minute. When he started again, he was quiet. "You didn't have to, you know."

I nodded. "No, I did."

"You didn't have to for me."

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for me. And us."

"So I was just a happy coincidence?"

"You just got a happy bonus."

He was smiling. "I'm glad it wasn't for me."

I nodded again. "I am, too. I'm glad I made the decision." What I didn't say there was the part about him making any decision for me. And that I was grateful he didn't ask me to. I could tell he knew what I meant without saying it. That I was happy that he let me do this on my own, in my own time, for myself.

And I felt really proud. Especially when he was still smiling at me, looking proud of me, too, kissing my forehead, then my lips, and pulled me to lean on him, holding me while we finished dinner. It was the first decision I made not only for myself, but for another person that I cared about.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	44. Chapter 44

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! T**hank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Four**

* * *

**TPOV**

Allison's birthday was only a few days away.

It was her 21st, her first birthday that she'd celebrate with me, and I wanted to make it special. Like most things in her life, birthdays hadn't been something special, or really something to celebrate at all. So my current mission was to make that happen.

Things on my side: she was ridiculously easy to please, had relatively little in the way of gifts, so just about everything was open for ideas, and I wasn't competing against anything. Of course, alternately, I would have no fucking clue how to top it for next year, but I'd worry about that when the time came.

In all honesty, she would have been happy with very little, but that's why I wanted it to be more than something little.

I wasn't sure what I planned was going to work, or be well-received. I was sort of just flying by here. It was nice; I knew it was nice. I just didn't know if it was…appropriate. I think I'd just have to come right out and ask her about it. That killed the element of surprise, but I didn't want to blindside her with something potentially undesirable, either.

"Hey, do you remember Doug and Lois? The ones that sent me the postcard?"

"Yeah, I remember you telling me about them."

"They're coming to visit."

"They are?" The idea of meeting anyone that knew her was so fucking exciting, I'm sure I couldn't contain it spilling out in my voice.

"Yeah, they'll be in town for a few days and wanted to go to breakfast on my birthday."

Hmm, birthday breakfast threw a slight wrench in my plans. "Wait, am I going along?"

She chuckled, snuggling into me. "Of course you're coming along. I want you to meet them. And I want them to meet you, too."

"I'd love to meet them."

She chewed on her lip for a second, like she was debating something, and then smiled shyly. "I…kinda called Doug a while ago."

I just let my eyebrows go up in response, waiting for what she was going to say.

"I talk to you about everything, and I didn't really know who else to ask, because I didn't really think Jordan would be a good choice… I dunno, I just needed to talk to someone that had experience with it."

"Experience with what?"

"I kinda called him to ask how you know you're in love with someone."

I smiled, squeezing her. "Really?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "I mean, I would have asked you, but it seemed wrong to ask you about how I could tell or not if I loved you." She chuckled.

"You could have. I would have helped you sort it out."

She smiled back at me warmly. "I know you would have, but I didn't think that was really fair. Anyway, we talked for a while, and he talked about coming out to meet you and everything, and they'll be here in a few days."

"That's great. I'm looking forward to meeting them." I stopped, not sure I should ask, but my curiosity won out. "Can I ask what he told you? Did it help you decide?"

She shook her head. "I really didn't need to decide anything. It wasn't like that. I didn't call him really to have him help me decide. I just wanted to know if what I felt was what it was supposed to feel like. He was very Doug-like. He basically told me that if I was calling to ask at all, I already had my answer. And he was right. I just needed someone to bounce it off of, or, like, I dunno, not reassurance, but just… I've never been in love before. I needed someone to just talk it out with."

"I'm glad he helped."

I remembered her telling me that Doug and Lois had sort of faux-adopted her, and they sort of helped each other—they had someone to focus on after losing their daughter, and came to some sort of peace with that, and they tried to offer her an out for a lifelong series of bad situations. Neither really solved all of their problems, but they pushed each other in the right direction. If nothing else, they'd been the first ones that seemed to actually care about Allison, and that made them more than decent in my book.

I thought about her calling Doug; what that must have been like. Too bad I couldn't have heard that conversation. I was glad she had someone else to rely on, to trust with heavy shit.

That first morning after she told me—waking with her, her tiny body enveloped in mine, her back pressing into my chest, my arm around her keeping her as snug to my body as possible—I can't describe the happiness and innate _rightness_, and sense of completeness I felt. So small. So delicate. Yet the opposite of both—her personality and her strength make her incredibly large in scope—large in personality. The same strength and brashness made her incredibly indelicate sometimes, but I meant that in the most thankful way. She's not breakable, and yet, she's vulnerable in ways that I never dealt with before. It's hard to have warring feelings about wanting to let her fly on her own and soar, but want to keep her tucked away where I know she's safe and protected and no one can clip her wings.

She's so beautiful. So amazing. And she loves me. The sanctity of my room is like the epitome of safety for both of us. It's completely true—if it were possible to never leave this bed, and still afford to live, there wouldn't be any way I'd let her leave. It's truly despicable that leaving the apartment and the bed in particular, is necessary at all. And the longer we're together, the harder it is to be apart from her. You'd think just the opposite really—that once you know someone intimately and spend a lot of time with them, that you'd crave independence, but I don't find it to be that way at all. I want to be with her. It's hard not to be. And sometimes it hurts not to be.

That's something I've never had.

I don't think I realized how much her saying I love you back would actually mean to me. Logically, I knew it was a huge thing for her to even consider or understand, but to mean it—it's almost unfathomable. She's come so far from when I first met her. I don't think she was even capable of love then. She didn't understand the concept. I think that's something that only comes with experience, and maybe only something that comes with receiving it first.

How incredibly confusing and scary that must have been for her; to have these emotions that she didn't know what to do with. I would have gladly talked it out with her, too. That was complete truth—even if the answer she arrived at wasn't the one I wanted, I would have helped her come to it.

Love is hard. It's frequently messy. People you love frustrate you, piss you off, disappoint you. I never thought she was perfect, and I never believed that we wouldn't have our share of disagreements and problems, but it still stung knowing that I needed her, and she let her job get in the way of that. I was far from perfect—I made mistakes all the time. I'm sure if I hadn't disappointed her already, I would at some point. But throwing Caroline in the mix, and having it be something that affected her as well just made it that much worse. I tried my hardest to make sure that she never got hurt. It was one of my goals in life, and thus far, I'd probably done a pretty shitty job, but I never stopped trying. I showed up for her. I did what I could. And I tried to keep her away from all hurt if I could. It wasn't like I thought Allison did it on purpose, but it still happened, and I was still left in the fallout from it.

It's hard then when the one person you want to turn to because something happened was part of the problem in the first place.

It says so much about her that she wanted to make it up to Caroline—to spend time with her and apologize for missing the show, and for wanting to make it right with me.

It was interesting then, too, how much I basically let all of that go when it came to planning shit for her birthday.

"Hey, would you mind if we did, like, a brunch kind of thing with Doug and Lois the day after your birthday instead?"

"I guess." She shrugged. "Why?"

"Well, it's just that I kind of had this plan…for the day. I was gonna run it by you."

She smiled. "For the day?"

"Yeah." I lifted a shoulder. "The first part I want to keep a surprise. But the other part I wanted to talk to you about first."

"Ok. What is it?"

"Well, it's the first birthday you've had with me. And I want it to be special, besides the fact that you're turning 21, which is a milestone itself. So I was trying to think of how I could make it really special, and wavered back and forth about a million times trying to decide if it was stupid or offensive or something, and then I just basically decided to throw all the chips in and let you decide. So you're free to say no. And I won't be mad, or offended myself, or anything. I just want you to be honest."

She was already smiling at me. Probably because I was talking about a mile a minute and sort of freaking out and panicking all over again, pretty much exactly like I had been doing for the last few days after I'd decided to go ahead with this.

"So what is it?"

I chewed my lip for a second. "I kinda sorta booked us a hotel room."

"Oh." Her smile didn't go away though.

"And a dinner reservation."

"That's nice."

"At the Ritz-Carlton."

Her eyebrows pulled down at that. "At the where?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"Tyler."

"I wanted it to be special."

"That's…" She shook her head. "Tyler, that's way too much."

"I want to."

"It's the fucking _Ritz_."

"I know what it is."

"That's way too expensive."

"I already paid for it. So it doesn't matter. If you don't want to, or that'd be weird, we don't have to go. Or we can just go to dinner and come home. I just thought it'd be nice to get away for a night, and to go somewhere nice for your birthday. It's not about the money. That's not why I did this."

She was still shaking her head, but she was considering, I could tell.

"We can go and have dinner and the rooms are really nice. And they have a shower _and_ a tub, and robes, and seven different kinds of pillows, and slippers, and a mini-bar, and 24-hour room service."

"You sound like a fucking brochure."

"Well, there's that, or we can just hang out here after dinner and Aidan can be our slave for the weekend. He doesn't know that yet, so I'll need at least 24-hours-notice to tell him."

"You know the word special does not mean the Ritz-Carlton."

I shrugged. "I wanted to take you someplace nice. Someplace you hadn't been before. Do you wanna go? Or would that be weird? I don't want it to be…" I waved a hand. "Whatever."

She kissed me gently. "Just spending my birthday with you is special enough."

"What does that mean? Is that a 'No, we're not going and alert Aidan,' or is that a 'Fuck, yeah, 24-hour room service?'"

She put her arms around my neck and kissed me again, much less gently, and much more deeply. When she was done, she rested her forehead against mine, and her arms stayed right where they were. "You're too good to me."

"That's not possible."

"I think it's too much."

"But we're going, right?"

She smiled widely. "Yeah, ok. Let's go."

"Happy Birthday."

"Thank you, Tyler."

~ooOoo~

So basically I was happy that a) if she had any objections, it was the monetary aspect only, not anything to do with self-confidence or self-worth; and b) she said yes. Just the saying yes was huge, at least to me. She made so many decisions lately that showed how incredibly far she'd come. The girl I met that night in the bar was concerned with such base things: food, water, sleep, place to stay, safety, job (although those ideas were sometimes completely contradictory). She had one close friend in the entire world that she was truly _close_ to. Since that time, she had gained friends, family, intimacy both emotionally and sexually, love, self-esteem, confidence, and respect. She removed herself from negative situations, and actually recognized they were negative and the impact that could have. And she moved into this completely other realm of complete self-actualization. She could be spontaneous; she knew that she had things she liked and favored; she accepted change and an altered-world view. In a lot of ways, she was an entirely different person, but still the same girl I fell in love with.

And all of these things were her own ideas, her own decisions. I was so fucking proud of her. For everything. For who she was. For this person she'd become. This person that I loved beyond anything else, more than myself.

Those were all things that the Allison that Doug knew wouldn't have done, I don't think. And I think he was in for a surprise.

I wanted to tell her all of those things. But I'd wait until her birthday.

~ooOoo~

When the day arrived, I felt pretty confident with my whole plan. I got up early, and snuck out of bed to make her breakfast. I actually looked up how to make an omelet; watched a youtube video and everything. Somewhere around folding it in half, something went terribly wrong, and I think I was lucky that it didn't burn up. I managed to get everything back to the bedroom before she woke up, too.

I sat down on the bed next to her, watching her breathing change, and dipped to kiss her gently. Her arms moved immediately, circling my neck. I moved the kisses closer to her ear before whispering, "Happy Birthday, baby."

She squeezed me tighter. "Thank you, Tyler."

I pulled back gently. "I have something for you."

"Well you're half-dressed, so I know what it's not," she teased me, grinning.

I chuckled. "Not right now, no. Later. I made you breakfast."

She started sitting up. "Really? You did?" She smiled. "I mean, that's so nice."

I laughed. "Yeah, well, it was an omelet. Now it's scrambled eggs with vegetables in it. And there's toast."

She touched my cheek. "Aww, thank you. You didn't have to make me breakfast."

"Yeah, I did. It's a full-service birthday. Hurry up and eat so you can open your presents."

She giggled at me. "Shouldn't I be the one excited about the presents?"

"I'm excited for you to open them."

"Well then you're much better at it than I was. I was a nervous wreck."

I didn't tell her this, but I wasn't. At all. Because really, she was about the easiest person to buy things for. Maybe because she didn't have a lot in the way of gifts, so everything was meaningful, but I had a hard time reigning myself in on what to buy because everything seemed appropriate.

And I _was_ excited. I loved watching her react to things.

She pretty much wolfed down the eggs, so they must have been edible. Maybe I'd get the hang of the whole cooking thing sooner, probably later.

I pulled out the box the second she was done, and she was smirking at me. Inside the box were really three smaller boxes, because who doesn't like opening more shit? Her eyebrow quirked at me. "Is there an order?"

"Um, do this one first."

She smiled and took out the first box. She was cute when she opened shit. Kind of like that first day I'd given her the wallet and she insisted on keeping the wrapping paper; this wasn't much different. She was very careful and precise like opening it without ripping any of the paper was a goal.

"A key?"

"Yup."

"What's it for?"

"The apartment."

"You don't have a lock," she said, shaking her head at me.

"We do now." I smiled proudly. More because I just liked the idea of her having a key than the fact that it took me years to actually get the lock replaced.

She laughed. "So is this more for my safety?"

"Well, I mean it wasn't safe not to have a lock, but I wanted you to have a key."

She moved forward to kiss me. "Thank you. That makes it, like, official that I pretty much live here."

"Of course you live here."

She smiled.

"No pretty much." I shook my head, buttoning that shit up fast. "Open another one."

"Which one next?"

"Open this one."

Same kind of careful removal of the paper. Seriously she should win an award. This one had just kind of leapt out at me. I'd gone to the store with the intention of finding an equally cool, super-meaningful ring for her. Because according to my little sister I should have given one to her months ago, and it seemed like the thing to get. But then I saw _this_.

She opened the jewelry box, and to anyone else her face was probably unreadable. But I knew better. Her hands just stayed on the box for a second, like if she moved them the whole box might just crumble or something, and her eyes were welling, and if this was making them start to tear, the next one would probably be outright sobbing. I mean, it was just a necklace really. But like most things, it was so much more.

"Tyler," she said, but it came out in a whisper. It occurred to me that I'd never bought her jewelry before, so this was actually quite momentous.

"Do you like it?" I asked back, same low whisper.

"It's beautiful." Her eyes tore up to mine for a second. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Of course."

I didn't think she was going to let me take the box for a second, but she let it go, watching my fingers and the chain the entire time, like it was going to disappear.

The second it was on her neck, her fingers went to trace the chain, and the little ring on it. "It's like your ring," she said, looking down at it.

"Yeah, but on a necklace. I thought it was…I dunno, similar but still different enough."

She smiled, launching herself at me, knocking us both to the bed. "It's perfect."

I loved it when she hugged me. It was so simple and stupid, and small, but I loved the feeling of her body against mine, and the way she just fit; the way we fit.

I turned my head to press a kiss into her cheek. "You have one more present to open."

"I think you went overboard."

"Well, you're the only girlfriend I've got, and I love you, so I don't think it's overboard."

She pulled back. "You mean…you don't have other girlfriends? Because I've got, like, three other guys I'm seeing right now."

"Oh, yeah? What are they doing for your birthday?"

"They haven't told me yet."

"What are their names?"

"Um. Julio."

I burst out laughing. "Julio?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, Julio."

"Ok. And the other two? Emilio and Juan?"

"Juan is the pool boy at some rich asshole's house, yes."

"A pool boy, huh?"

"Yes, well. I mean, he goes away for the winter. He's in the Bahamas or something right now."

"Must be an awesome salary for cleaning pools. I'm obviously in the wrong line of work."

"Well pools take _lots_ of care, you know. _Lots and lots and lots_ of care. All night long sometimes."

"Right, right. And the third?"

"Oliver."

I laughed again. "And what does Oliver do?"

"He's, like, a business man. Always very proper. He's kind of boring, actually."

"Then why do you keep him around?"

"Well, sometimes you're busy on Tuesdays."

"Well, I'm glad you seem to be so well taken care of."

"Yeah, but I love you. And truthfully, Julio's kind of a snob. Juan's gone a lot, and like I said, Oliver's kinda boring. You're very well-rounded."

"I don't like sharing, you know. I might need their addresses."

"Well I hear you kinda suck at fighting, so you might want to take Aidan with you."

I started tickling her. "Open your other present before I decide not to give it to you."

She sat up quickly and grabbed the other box.

I was right with this one, the waterworks started almost immediately.

"Jordan let me in so I could grab the pictures. I'm fairly certain she didn't think I was stealing anything."

"Tyler."

"Bet Julio and Juan and Oliver didn't do that." I smirked.

"Shut up," she said quickly. "I can't believe… I mean, of course I can believe, but to remember that I even had them. I don't… You're so fucking thoughtful." She sort of dissolved after that, landing against me again, the picture trapped between us.

I wasn't that thoughtful. I just had a good memory. And I was awesome at knowing what was important to her. The pictures she'd shown me so long ago of her mother when she was a little girl were two of the only vestiges of a life that she hadn't got to live—of a happier time that she couldn't even accurately remember. That made the infinitely more important to hang onto. And what was important to her was important to me.

She moved back after letting me hold her for a while. The tears were gone, and she seemed just genuinely happy. "You can put it anywhere you want."

She turned and put it on the nightstand. "I want it here, so I can see it all the time and it can remind me of her and how great my boyfriend is."

"Way better than Julio, Juan and Oliver."

She touched my cheek. "Way better."

I kissed her quickly. "K, come on, get dressed. Your birthday is just beginning. We got somewhere to be."

"Where do we have to be?"

"Surprise. Get dressed."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	45. Chapter 45

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! T**hank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Five**

* * *

**APOV**

"So where are we going?" I asked.

"You don't know the word 'surprise' very well, do you?"

I was huddled next to him in the cab, and couldn't really decide where he might be taking me. I was terrible with surprises; I didn't have the patience and for anyone other than him, I probably would have been too apprehensive to even go along with it. Still, it was exciting.

"Tyler," I whined.

"Allison," he whined back. "We'll be there in a few minutes. Just chill and enjoy the ride."

So I was forced to just _wait_ in the damn cab for our unknown destination. When we stopped, it didn't really dawn on me where we were.

We got out of the cab, and he took my hand. "You told me once that you'd rather look up than down. So I decided to change your opinion."

"What?"

"When we were on your roof one time—you told me that you liked being up high, but you'd rather look up than down. I decided we needed to give you the other side to level the opinion field. So you have more to consider."

I was so lost. One, he remembered shit that I honestly didn't even remember telling him. Two, he was always with the thoughtful. Three, I had no fucking clue what that meant.

He pointed to the building in front of us. And I looked up, and then up, and up some more. It was the fucking Empire State Building.

"You said you'd never been, so…I thought we should check it out today."

I didn't even know what to say. I think I pretty much just nodded and let him lead me into the building. He got the tickets online, so we didn't have to wait, and even though there were a ton of people, the ride to the observation deck wasn't really that long.

Breathtaking. That's the only word for the view. Complete 360-view of New York and from what the tour said, up to 80 miles including New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. I thought seeing it from inside was great—going outside, I don't even have the words. It's really fucking windy, but that just meant Tyler held onto me the whole time, plugging endless quarters in the binocular machines so I could see things from every angle. It started to rain when we were about to go back in, and we stayed out there a few minutes more just to see the rain fly sideways around the building. Tyler put me in front of him, his head resting top of mine, his body like a jacket around me. After the first observation deck, we went up to the second, on the 102nd floor and it was just baffling to me that a building could even have that many floors. It was quieter up there, and we must have spent an hour or more just switching views. There was almost a peaceful sense here. Reverent was the word Tyler used. It was odd to see New York this way without all the noise; to literally see the entire city, and understand the height and not hear any of it.

I couldn't even tell you what we really did after that. We walked around a lot. We ate hotdogs from a vendor on the street. Tyler bought me one of those really cliché _I love NY _T-shirts. We held hands like they were glued together. We stole kisses in the middle of sidewalks. We did nothing. And everything. It didn't even matter. He was my favorite person to spend time with, my favorite person, period.

Before I knew it, we were getting ready to leave for the hotel; all of our shit jammed in two overnight bags. We dressed before we left, and I think we both sort of had that moment of _Wow_. I'd never seen him in a suit before, and we were both preoccupied with getting ready that it was only after were done…and seriously, _Wow_.

Why did he never wear suits? He should. All the time.

"You look really beautiful," he said after we were both just kind of staring at each other.

"Uh, likewise," I half-stumbled, feeling tongue-tied, and already thinking about how much I really wanted him out of the suit.

He must have been having the same thoughts, because he cleared his throat and blinked reflexively a few times before saying, "Right, should we go?"

I nodded dumbly, still just admiring the view.

He grabbed the bags and jerked his head for me to follow. "Yeah, we gotta go."

~ooOoo~

When we pulled up to the hotel, I thought it had an old-time feel. Maybe it was entrance and doorman—not that those were odd things in New York, but just the atmosphere seemed both classy and classic. I liked it.

We did the whole check-in thing, and he had them take the bags to our room so we could go straight to dinner.

We sat at a table by the window and it was odd, but I didn't feel out of place here. It was what I would definitely consider "fancy" dining, but maybe it was just being with Tyler.

I think he was more excited about eating here than I was. He poured over the menu, suggesting things and I think I surprised him when I told him wanted oysters for an appetizer. His eyebrows went up immediately. "What?"

"Nothing," he said smiling, shaking his head.

"What?" I hissed at him through a smile. "I like oysters."

He shrugged. "Nothing. They're an aphrodisiac. Just sayin'."

"What the fu—," I stopped myself, thinking of our surroundings, correcting, "What is an aphrodisiac?"

Tyler snorted. "Um, well it's something that increases desire, or is said to do that. Like, I dunno, honey, chocolate. Really it can be anything that someone thinks turns them on, but traditionally oysters have been on the list. I have no idea why."

I smirked at him. "Jesus, it's just sex, sex, sex all the time with you, huh?"

"Hey, you're the oyster girl."

"I lived in New Orleans. Crawfish were a food group. Oysters are like fancy crawfish."

"Right, well. Regardless—still happy we'll be eating an aphrodisiac."

I went back to looking at the menu but said, "I love it when you talk dirty."

He'd taken a drink and nearly choked and spit it out.

I ignored him, smiling widely. "Ohhhh, chicory. What is this with the chicory? Duck what?"

"Duck leg," he said, coughing and smirking at me.

"Oh."

He laughed. "You wanna try it? If it's gross we won't eat it."

"I like chicory. A place I used to eat in New Orleans had this awesome chicory coffee. I've never seen it on a menu anyplace else. And especially not with duck."

"K. We'll get that, too. What about main course? Any ideas?"

"Um, no, not really."

"Mind if I decide for us?"

I loved when he did that—when I wasn't sure of something, and really didn't want to admit that a lot of this stuff I really had no idea what it would taste like or if I'd like it, and really didn't want to ask about every one. "That'd be great."

He nodded once, smiling back at me and I actually have no idea what he ordered because there was a lot of shit in there. He ordered some kind of wine that was called Relic; I heard that much, and it was exciting to actually be legal and able to just order shit without a fake ID.

I was full before the main course even started; everything was so good. Tyler had ordered the same thing for both of us, and I was in love with something other than him. "Oh my _God_, this is the best thing I've ever tasted. What's it called again?"

"Filet mignon."

"What is it?"

"It's steak—beef tenderloin wrapped in bacon with a wine sauce."

I burst out laughing. "You sure bacon isn't an aphrodisiac."

"Oh, I'm sure it is. Just covering all my bases."

"You usually don't need any help covering my bases."

"Well, it's your birthday. It has to be extra special. Don't want to make any mistakes."

He was so sweet. "We need to make this at home, like, all the time. Also first the wine, now the wine sauce, you tryin' to get me drunk?"

"Like I said, just making sure all my bases are covered, setting up the best possible outcome."

"I never knew you were this insecure," I teased. "Usually it's pretty easy to get in my pants, or dress as the case may be tonight. I certainly don't need all of this." I gestured to the room.

His smile was soft and warm, just like the room and the lighting. "You need everything I can give you."

"I was teasing."

"I know. I wasn't." He shrugged. "Besides, bringing you here was just part of my master plan to get you to make filet mignon at home. My life needs more bacon."

I grabbed his hand over the table, and I don't even remember what else we talked about, but neither of us let go of each other's hands until dessert.

Dessert: needed no introduction or explanation. It was also not optional. Molten chocolate cake. Vanilla ice cream. Chocolate Sauce. Seriously. I was in food orgasm bliss. And I was so fucking full. And happy. And warm in a really cozy way. Our table felt cozy. And I think I was kinda buzzed.

He caught me completely off guard after dessert again. There was a band playing, and we watched for a while, enjoying the music. He turned to me suddenly and smiled, asking softly, "Do you wanna dance?"

"What? _No_."

He smiled a little wider, jerking his head a little. "C'mon. Dance with me."

"Tyler, I can't dance. Not—not like this."

"Bullshit. It's slow. Dance with me." And he stood up and held out his hand. Like what the fuck else could I do but get up and go out there with him? I didn't even know if this was really a dance floor. No one else was dancing. But the minute we started, I didn't care anymore.

We never danced before. I think we were pretty good at it. I mean, it didn't take a lot of skill really to slow dance, but we didn't step on each other's toes, and…it was nice. Honestly I couldn't remember ever dancing with anyone like this.

The song wasn't one I knew. I couldn't really explain what type of music it was—it seemed like something that would have been played in a place like this. It was sort of jazzy sounding, but not like a jazz song, really. It sounded like an older type of song.

_I'm gonna love you, like nobody's loved you  
Come rain or come shine  
High as a mountain, deep as a river  
Come rain or come shine  
_

We started out in a sort of proper slow dance kind of position, but the longer the song went on, and the more I listened to the words, the tighter Tyler held me, and the more I wanted to just hug him back.

_I guess when you met me  
It was just one of those things  
But don't you ever bet me  
'cause I'm gonna be true if you let me_

There was no way Tyler knew it would be this song that played. He never left the table, and I really don't think it was a song he would have known either. But it was so fucking perfect, it was almost creepy. Every single 'first thing' in my life that was positive came from him.

_You're gonna love me, like nobody's loved me  
Come rain or come shine  
We'll be happy together, unhappy together  
Now won't that be just fine  
_

His cheek was resting on the top of my head, but I could hear him perfectly even though he was talking really quietly. "I want to tell you something."

I nuzzled into his chest, but didn't say anything.

"I love you."

I smiled against him even though he couldn't see me. "I love you, too."

"I know you're going to just shove this off, too, so promise me that you won't say anything until I'm done."

"Ok, I promise."

"You're an amazing person. You were when I met you, and you are now just the same, but you are not the girl I met in the bar. You're like a heightened version of her. And I mean that in the best possible way. And I won't go on and on like I'd like to because the more I say, the more you'll be rolling your eyes and not believing me, but… I have no claim to any of it, but I just want you to know how proud I am. Of the amazing things you've done and how much you've made my life infinitely better. I can't imagine you not being in my life."

I turned my head up to look at him. I'm not sure why I was ever surprised anymore that he could still just _do that_. Just be normal and dancing and swaying with me and holding me and making me feel like I was the only person in the world, and then just bang out something like _that_, that I couldn't even begin to respond to. I wasn't even sure I believed it was true, the things he was saying, but knowing that he was proud of me sort of just blew everything out of the water. "I can't imagine you not being in my life, either. And I think all of this is because of you."

He smiled. "Nah. But I'm glad I get to be here to see it."

"Me, too."

_The days may be cloudy or sunny  
We're in or out of the money  
But I'm with you always  
I'm with you rain or shine_

~ooOoo~

The view from this hotel room was completely fucking ridiculous. If the view from the Empire State Building wasn't enough, this was like having Central Park as your backyard. It was unbelievable. I couldn't believe this day, and I certainly couldn't believe this fucking hotel room.

I'd been in my fair share or hotel rooms. None were like this. Even the classier places that I'd been in in Vegas were just not even on the same level. Purpose probably had a lot to do with that too, but this was just so classy. Elegant. It felt elegant and warm.

I felt warm. I felt loved and appreciated and cared for and I didn't have any words to tell Tyler those things. Thank you seemed like a really fucking poor choice of words. It didn't describe what I was feeling. It couldn't.

He spoiled me.

This room _had_ to have cost a fucking _fortune_. And never in a million years would I have gotten here without Tyler. I don't think I even wanted to know what a night here cost. And that he dropped that amount without a second thought just because he wanted my birthday to be nice. Nice didn't cover this. Special didn't either. More completely valueless words. There couldn't be a price put on this—for what it meant to me.

So odd to look out over the city, over the park and not hear any of the noise—just like at the Empire State Building. Like a vacuum of no noise. The bed looked like I'd never want to get out of it again, and I didn't even know there _were_ seven different kinds of pillows. Tyler urged me to check out the room while he went down to the front desk for something. He hadn't told me what it was, and I was too floored by the room to ask. I hadn't left the window yet. I was just completely captivated by the largeness of everything; the day, Empire State, dinner, this room, the beauty here, seeing Doug and Lois tomorrow, the incredibleness of Tyler and me, of Tyler. Of love. Of what love was like. Of what it did to one person, to two people. How changing it was. Or how much it changed things, people, everything. Of how fucking corny and sappy I sounded to myself.

Tyler.

If life had a reset button, its name was Tyler.

Everything was so quiet, and yet I didn't hear him come back into the room. I only noticed him because his reflection was staring back at me from where I was glued to the floor. He had this soft smile on his face, and he was leaning on the doorframe. Windows weren't like mirrors, they made reflections hazy and blurry, but there wasn't anything hazy or blurry about Tyler. He was as clear as if he was standing in front of me.

And I was stuck by the feeling of complete, non-overwhelming-ness. Because good things with Tyler didn't seem overwhelming anymore. They seemed natural. And I think I stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. He loved me. There wasn't a part of myself, body or mind, that didn't believe that now. He could have tried to buy his way into my heart with this hotel room the night he met me, but he didn't. He used it because he could, at a time when it would be truly special.

There wasn't a part of me anymore that didn't love him back, either.

I wasn't afraid anymore. I stopped being afraid of my feelings. I trusted them now. Loving Tyler was the one thing I trusted the most.

His reflection showed that he'd lost his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and his tie was slightly undone. Pretty sure I died a little right there when he walked out of the bedroom wearing a suit. The boy looked good. And he was dressed up for me.

I settled on a black, backless dress for dinner. When he told me where we were going, it seemed silly not to have a new dress. And a nice one. I liked it; it was comfortable but elegant, and seemed to fit the atmosphere of this place.

He looked relaxed, but made for that suit. He was holding a bottle, and I watched him set it on the table by the door and then walk to the bed and sit down.

"Did you check out the room while I was gone?"

I shook my head, still facing away from him. "No, I kinda just stayed right here."

"You can check it out later. C'mere."

I turned and walked over to him, stepping in between his legs. I held his face in my hands. "I love you. Thank you for everything today."

He smiled softly. "We're just getting started."

His hands started under my dress and started moving it up, his mouth following, kissing after the material; big, open-mouthed kisses that covered my skin. I leaned into him, my fingers ruffling through his soft hair.

The material was a little heavy, but still silky as he pushed it up, his fingers so warm and gentle. Tyler could pour his feelings into his fingers; that's what it felt like to me. That every time he ran them over my skin, all the love that he said he felt for me was right there.

He skipped the zipper on the side of the dress entirely, pushing it until he could pull it over my head, hands dropping immediately to my underwear, shimmying those down as well, adding to a growing pile of clothing on the floor.

It was funny how standing there in front of him completely naked didn't really feel that way at all. I think that said something about our relationship, too, that I never felt naked with him. Or that I felt almost less naked with him like this. If that even made any sense.

I decided as I started removing his tie, that they were one sexy piece of clothing that he needed to wear more often. I made short work of his shirt buttons, too, even with his extremely distracting fingers roaming all over my body. I got as far as pushing the shirt off of his shoulders and getting his pants undone before he turned me around gently, leaving wet, kissing-licks on my back. He started pulling me backwards into his arms as he moved back on the bed, his lips bathing my neck and shoulders in a new round of kisses.

His chest was incredibly warm, or it could have just been that I was feeling that warm. I loved feeling him this way—the way he seemed so much larger than me; the way I felt completely enveloped in him.

His fingers were making lazy, unrecognizable patterns all over me, up and down my thighs, swirling around my stomach. I felt almost light-headed, and it was like every place he touched felt completely amazing. It tingled everywhere. And he hadn't even started on my tits or pussy yet. It wasn't like he was teasing me; I knew what he was doing, and it was working perfectly. The tension alone was incredible. I finally grabbed fistfuls of the material of his pants to ground myself, my breathing hiking. I wanted him so badly.

His mouth was right next to my ear, the feeling of his breath making me shiver. "Touch yourself."

I know I moaned. Loudly. He never asked me to do that before. But I was so needy, I didn't really need to be asked twice, either. I went straight for my clit. My nipples were burning with the need to be touched, too, but the second my finger stroked over my clit, the relief was unbelievable. I bowed away from him slightly, but his hands pulled me back, locking me to him.

Usually, masturbating required a certain amount of fantasy, which of course Tyler himself had basically taught me. Masturbating when the subject of the fantasies was right behind you was sort of an entirely different sort of thing. Because I could actually _feel_ him there. His body was in full contact with mine; his hands were all over me. His breathing was as choppy and panted as mine. I pushed back against him, his fingers fanning out over my stomach as I dipped my middle finger inside me, running the pad back and forth through the gathering wetness.

"Tyler, you make me so wet."

His throaty moan and the way I could feel him hardening behind me—this was really, really good shit. And he was one smart motherfucker. It was no wonder I loved him so much.

"Spread your legs, baby. I want to see you."

I complied without any question, throwing my legs over his because I wanted him to see just as much.

"S'good?"

I only nodded against him in answer, curling my finger deeper inside me while rubbing around and over my clit.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his hands finally starting to massage my tits, his mouth nibbling and sucking at my neck while pinching my nipples enough to make me arch away and shove back at him.

My hips were starting to arch like he was there between my legs. "I want you in me," I managed to get out around the gasps and panted breaths.

"Come for me first. I wanna watch you come."

I could physically feel the flush all over my skin, the dampness against his chest from the heat I was putting off.

"C'mon."

His voice was getting deeper, harsher, and my fingers rubbed faster over my clit, my body locked to him but still starting to squirm and it felt like every part of me was vibrating. And it felt so…urgent. The faster I came, the faster I'd have him inside me—like my body was compelling me along because it wanted it as badly as I did.

I think it was the combination of a lot of things that tipped me over. My finger was rubbing at a speed and pressure that was designed to make me completely fall apart, but just being with Tyler and knowing he was watching it was something completely _else_. The physical part of having him there, participating but still wanting me to do it was sort of mind-blowing. Then there was the part where his voice kept urging me on, quiet and not commanding, but just…helpfully suggestive in the fucking sexiest way. His hands on me didn't hurt, either. Touching every place except my pussy—that part was my job.

And if that wasn't enough, the way he did it all completely tenderly, and how the second I started to come, my body tight before breaking off into a jerky orgasm, he whispered, "I love you," right into my ear, turning my head to kiss me—I never wanted it to end.

"Fuck me. Fuck me now," I said the second my lips left his and my orgasm just barely done.

I started tugging on his pants, and he lifted his hips to shove them down. We both gave up halfway through, and he pretty much just shimmied his way out of them the rest of the way. I felt…jittery, hurried. I wanted it fast. I wanted him to fuck me, but the second he started touching me again, that was not his plan tonight. One hand stayed on my upper body, massaging, caressing; his other finally went to my pussy, his finger lazily stroking up and down the wetness there. He was deliberate and slow, lapping at my neck, mouthing over where his tongue had been. It just served to make me want him more. How he held this fucking level of patience I'll never know. I felt like I was going to crawl out of my own skin, the _want_ was so bad.

His fingers curled inside, the heel of his hand directly over my mound. The constant pressure and feel of it there was exactly what I wanted, and I kept pushing myself up against him, trying to get my clit more contact.

I tried everything to get him to lose his patience; grinding down into him, pushing up, panting, pleading, moaning until his name just became a whispered whine over and over.

Then finally, _finally_ he lifted my hips and started to push inside.

And from the moment I felt my slickness coat him, it was like everything was reduced to just moments; a constant string of really amazing moments. Maybe it was just my way or processing something so wonderful—of making sense of something that was so much greater than myself.

My body arching away from him only to crash back against him.

My fingers digging into the sheets.

Shared moans, drowned in sideways kisses.

His hands kneading my tits, rolling my nipples, his cock hard and perfect inside me.

His mouth nibbling at my ear, breath panted and hot.

The head of his cock rubbing through my wetness, spreading it, stroking it back and forth between my lips before pushing back inside.

The way my thighs seemed instantly covered in wetness.

His hands holding my legs open while he started to thrust, pulling me up, letting gravity pull me down.

The orgasm prickling down my neck and spine, spreading all over. Falling again, and again.

The feeling of my muscles shuddering around him.

His own release—hot and wet, the way he completely held me to him so the fullness was all I felt.

Hard and fast was good; this was better. This was so much better. Being held, being loved. So much better.

Home. He felt like home. The only one I'd really ever known.

Sometimes I still wondered if my need for him was normal. If what I felt, what I wanted literally all the time was normal.

The way I always felt wrapped in a blanket of warmth when Tyler held me. It didn't matter when; during or after sex was just an added bonus, but his arms meant something else entirely that I never knew was missing until I had them now. They seemed completely necessary now. I wouldn't want to be without them. The affection and tenderness and kindness; everything that made Tyler the guy I loved was just _there_, like a seal or mark.

He moved slightly—more moving me than himself, shifting me so he could see more of my face, but enough that he pushed inside slightly, too. I smiled, sighing because he was reminding me he was there. Like his arms and himself and everything wasn't enough of a reminder.

I'd been holding onto his arm, but moved down to play with his fingers.

He peppered my temple with tiny kisses before asking quietly, "Whatcha thinking about so hard down there?"

I shook my head against him, lacing our fingers together. "Nothing. Everything. Mostly just you."

"What about me?"

I shrugged this time. "Just how much life has changed with you in it."

"Yeah? Better'n with Juan and Oliver and what's-his-name?"

"Julio."

"Yeah, him."

"Yes. Much better."

"I fucking rock."

I giggled. "You really do."

He pressed another kiss to my temple—this one much longer and he sighed against my skin at the end of it. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Even that had changed—my response to him at the beginning would have been one of total terror and apprehension.

He was quiet for a second. And I didn't know if that was because he was coming up with a way to ask it or something else.

"What's your favorite vegetable?"

I burst out laughing. "You fucking dork."

He chuckled. "No, I'm totally serious."

I chewed on my lip a second. "Um…carrots."

"Do you have a favorite color yet?"

"No, that one still changes."

"Fair enough. Favorite place?"

"Your apartment."

"Favorite memory?"

"Hmm…I have a lot of those. I dunno if I could narrow it to one. I love the first night without a condom, the first night we had sex, the first time I made you dinner, the first time you slept in my bed even though it wasn't a good night for you. And because of all of that I love the first night we met. I can't just say one."

"Favorite thing to do that's not me?"

I laughed. "Sleep."

He chuckled.

"Favorite sexual position?"

I was actually waiting for that one. I pushed back against him, squeezing until he groaned and his eyes fluttered closed. He swallowed and I latched onto his Adam's Apple, smirking at the way his hands held me to him. "Pretty much I love any position where your cock is in me, but if I had to choose, I like it when you take me from behind. Obviously. But I like the feeling of you on top, too. Yeah, pretty much still with the any position where your cock is in me." I squeezed him again. "What's yours?"

"Fuck. Same. Same. Definitely."

He touched my face and turned it up to his, kissing me sloppily. I think the patience left momentarily, because he lifted me off of him then gently but quickly, and set me next to him on the bed, turning into me immediately and shoving his tongue in my mouth.

It didn't last nearly long enough, and then the patience was back. He moved back slightly, propping his head on his bent elbow and smiled down at me. His hand was resting between my tits and I loved that for some reason—the familiarity of it; how nonchalant it seemed.

"Where's your favorite place to be touched?"

His voice was coarser than it had been, and I giggled at his continued questions when we could be fucking already. Regardless I answered, "Oh, shit, Tyler. You have no idea. Your hands are orgasmic themselves."

He laughed. "You think so, huh?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. I love your hands. All over me."

"But where's your favorite?" He watched me a second as I thought about it.

I mean, how could I narrow it to one place? Was that even possible? Did I even have a favorite? I loved his hands on me no matter where they were, no matter what we were doing.

"Show me," he said quietly. And his hand came up from between my tits and was just there, waiting for me. Oh, he was good. Very good. I took his hand and pressed it against my check, holding it there before moving it over to my mouth and sucking one finger in. His eyes had been watching mine, but they moved to watch my lips around that one digit. I smiled when his breathing picked up, although I'm not sure it really ever slowed down completely, but it was definitely noticeable.

His other fingers tightened on my jaw, and he pushed the finger farther in my mouth. Of course, I just adjusted and sucked him in farther. Two could play this game. I swallowed and scraped my teeth along his finger as I pushed it out.

He traced my lips and then started on his own, his fingers running from my forehead, over my eyes, his middle finger following an invisible line down my nose and the dent above my lips, over my lips to my chin. The word erotic came to mind as his hand kept going, tracing down my neck, between my tits, over my stomach. I can't even describe the amount of heat that was blazing with his hand. It felt like he was writing with fire over my body. Past my stomach his hand turned, pushing downward instead, same middle finger tracing my clit, rubbing, my hips jerking up into his hand like a fucking string was attached between us. He stroked between my lips, then traced the single finger all the way back up, a trail of my wetness following until his hand was back at my face, same wet finger tracing my lips. Fucking hell.

I pulled his head down to mine, letting him taste me on my lips. I wanted him in me again. The need was unbelievable. I started grabbing at him, urging him to get between my legs and he obliged, but positioned himself just low enough that he wasn't inside me yet. Hell, it was closer, it was progress.

The kissing was great. Long, and involved, our tongues caressing, his running over my teeth. I pulled his lip between mine, nipping at him.

He pulled back slightly. "Favorite place to be kissed?"

Ugh. No more questions! Instead I answered, "Duh!"

He smiled slightly. "Which place is duh?"

"Baby, I love your mouth anywhere. I love kissing you. I love your lips. I love your tongue. I love when you run your tongue over my teeth. I love the way my lips are always between yours when we kiss. Does that make sense?" I hoped it did; I wanted to move it along. He needed to be in me.

The smile widened. "Of course it makes sense. Where else?"

I whined. "I love your mouth on my nipples."

"Tell me why."

I answered impulsively—but the more he asked, the more this was getting… I couldn't think of the word. It was basically just a different kind of foreplay. One that we didn't really use. We teased a lot, we talked, but this was just something else entirely. "Because you're never afraid to be rough with them. And I love that. I love that you nip at me and take my nipples between your teeth. Or suck them. That's fucking awesome. Never thought I'd like that but it's incredible."

"Favorite less obvious place."

Well that eliminated my clit. Fucker. He was making me think more about this. "I love it when you kiss the inside of my elbow, that lil bend here." I pointed. And he immediately complied. "I love when you kiss my back or the back of my neck when you take my from behind. It's just…I dunno, I can't explain why. It's an amazing feeling."

"I love it when you touch my thighs when we're having sex. When you move them or hold them. The feeling of your thumbs digging in. The way you kiss my shoulders."

I hadn't been watching him; mostly I'd been thinking while answering, but when I looked back at him, his smile was breathtaking. Like, seriously breathtaking. Because it was so many things: love, mischief, pride, gentleness, affection.

He leaned in close to kiss me, hovering just over my lips and then pulled back, making me seek him out before crashing his lips into mine.

He backed up onto his knees and scooted closer to me, tipping my hips and ran the head of his cock through my wetness again.

I arched up into him. "I love when you do that, too. It's incredibly sexy."

"It looks… I can't even describe to you what it looks like. Or what it does to me."

"Where do you like to kiss me?"

He smiled. "Every place I haven't yet."

He slipped inside, easy and slow, curling himself over me. There was no better way to describe it other than it was like the reverse of what we had before. If he could hug me from the front and make me feel completely wrapped in him, this was it.

I felt so close to him—in every sense of that word.

"Favorite type of foreplay?"

He relaxed his position, not thrusting at all, and I fucking loved that. Just having a conversation while he was inside of me—no rush, no hurry, just enjoying the feeling.

"God anything is foreplay with us, I think."

He chuckled. "Probably."

"I like cuddling with you, and how it progresses from there. I like jumping you when you get in the door. I love when you put your arms around me from behind and kiss my neck."

He laughed. "Sex is on then?"

"Sex is always on."

He was making slow thrusts, but they already seemed powerful. My hands were holding onto his neck, my thumbs running along his jaw. "This foreplay was great. Surprising. But you always do that. Very impressive. It—"

His lips smashed into mine, our mouths virtually inseparable after he cut off my last compliment. It all felt like that. The way he kept his body pressed against mine, but covering me, too. My legs against him so tightly. His forehead resting against mine.

"I love that, too," I moaned out, shoving myself against him, arching my neck back at his thrust, even if it meant our foreheads wouldn't be touching anymore.

"What? What do you love?"

"When you put your head against mine like that."

He pushed in and held it, pressing his forehead to mine again. "I do, too."

He met my lips again gently before kissing my forehead, my eyelids, my nose, my cheeks, my chin—all the same places his finger had traced earlier—before coming back to my mouth. I ran my hands over his back, scraping my nails gently before latching onto him when we both came, our lips locked together in this lingering kiss that lasted as long as the orgasms—only the smallest breaths escaped in between.

I wanted him just as close after, and instead of him holding me, I just guided his head down to rest on my chest instead. It seemed oddly fitting. I started combing my fingers through his hair and he started dozing almost immediately. I loved the feeling of his weight on me, the trust.

I pressed a kiss into his hair and whispered, "I love you, Tyler."

He snuffled adorably, rubbing his cheek into me and nuzzling his head into my chin. "Love you." 'Happy Birthday' came out, too, but it was half-sleep slurred and also completely adorable.

"Thank you."

I stayed awake for a while, just looking around the room: the warm lighting, actually noticing the completely amazingly soft sheets we were on, covering us in the fluffy comforter as much as I could with him lying on me. I dunno which one of the seven different types of pillows my head was resting on, but I was stealing it—it was fuck-awesome. What a completely extraordinary birthday.

I woke up sometime around 3am. I only know this because Tyler was kissing me awake, already slipping back inside me, and after I moaned out his name, I couldn't stop giggling when he said, "Wake up, we can order room service 24-hours a day here. When we're done fucking again, we can call and order shit even though it's 3am!"

He certainly left nothing out. Extraordinary indeed.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	46. Chapter 46

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! T**hank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Six**

* * *

**APOV**

We fucked on and off all night long. And ordered room service once more before we left. We slept late, and I felt absolutely amazing in the morning. It was lazy, and we didn't have to meet Doug and Lois until 11. We checked out the fuck-awesome whirlpool tub, and literally just sat there in it, bubbles all over for the longest time. It wasn't even sexual; it was just completely sensual and lazy and lying there in the tub together, just holding each other.

It seemed unreal. Unreal that my life was this good. That this was mine—that he was mine. And I couldn't wait to tell Doug and Lois about it. I had no one else to tell really. They were the closest thing to family that I had. I was excited they were going to meet him.

This room had been so amazing. I didn't want to leave. But at the same time, this wasn't what I wanted of Tyler, either. He did it because he wanted something special for me—but this wasn't us. We were…we were crappy little apartment people. I loved that about us. We were happy there.

We packed everything up and I lovingly ran my hand over the bed comforter on our way out, memorizing the feel. I wouldn't ever forget it anyway, but I wanted that last touch of the fabric.

We were in the elevator—I was tucked into his side—deliriously happy when I asked, "Are you nervous?"

"For what? Meeting them?"

"Yeah."

"Um, no, not really. Should I be?" He asked, smiling and squeezing me.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "No, they're nice people. I was just curious. Because, like, I was terrified to meet your mother."

He hummed thoughtfully for a second. "Do you think of them as family?"

I picked at one of the buttons on his shirt. "Yeah, I guess. Kinda. They're the closest thing I have to family."

"You have me."

"You're more than family," I dismissed quickly. He should know that already. "They're important to me. I owe them a lot. I mean, I had other wrong turns, but in a way, I kind of feel like they set me on my direction here. And without them I wouldn't have found you then. I'd still be in NOLA."

"I'm very grateful for them then."

I sighed and snuggled into him more, putting my head on his chest. "I love you."

He pressed a kiss into my hair, tightening his grip on me. "I love you."

~ooOoo~

The closer we got to the restaurant the more his lack of…concern was kind of bugging the shit outta me. "How are you so _calm_?!" I finally asked, as we got to the restaurant. We wound up being early, so we had some time to kill.

He shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I'm not worried?"

"Doug's, like, a big guy."

He cracked a smile. "He is, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, shaking my head. "Like…" I opened my hands. "Big."

"And you don't think I could take him?"

"Pfffft. Hell, no. You suck at fighting."

"Hey!"

"Well! You've gotten your ass kicked several times since I've known you. I'm just sayin'."

"Jesus. I was _assaulted_ by a cop, and the other dude got _one_ good punch in. That does not equal sucking at fighting."

"Whatever. Doug could pound your ass." I shrugged, looking away from him. "Don't be cocky. Doug doesn't like cocky."

"Cocky!? When am I cocky?"

I raised a brow and looked at him.

"No, seriously. When am I cocky? I'm not being cocky. Don't confuse confidence with cockiness."

I snorted. "So you're just confident this morning?"

"Hell, yeah, I'm confident. We had an awesome night. I feel _high_. What do I have to be concerned about? Are you going to dump me if Doug doesn't like me?"

"Yeah, totally."

He looked at me for a minute and then smirked. "I can't fucking believe you can still do that to me."

I shrugged. "Hey, that's confidence. Don't confuse confidence with cockiness, Tyler."

"You little shit."

He started tickling me. Right in front of the restaurant. We were literally standing in the doorway. "Tyler!" I squealed at him. Fucking tickling. It was the start of a lot of shit. And I think he knew that. Because whenever he did it, I basically collapsed into him; it was impossible to stay standing upright. Or if we were already lying down, it was basically like foreplay.

I'd really like to say it was different this time. That we were adults, and just separated to wait for our soon-to-be-arriving company.

I doubt that'll ever happen.

Instead we basically started making out in the doorway of the restaurant. I was half climbing his body, our mouths already inseparable. Thankfully he must have had some small bit of sanity left, because he gently started pushing me off.

"Allison, stop. We have to stop."

I attempted to control myself, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Right, right. You're right."

He cleared his throat. "I have an idea."

I nodded, both of my eyebrows rising. Ideas were good. I liked ideas. "Yeah?"

He grabbed my hand. "Yeah, come on."

He pulled the door open, and then we were just inside the restaurant. What the fuck kind of idea was this? We were just gonna go sit down and wait? Not a good idea! I pulled on his hand, and gave him the look—the one that said _The fuck?!_

He shook his head, and just waltzed us right up to the seating hostess. "Hi. We're meeting another couple for brunch, but they're not here yet. Could we get a booth, and we'll watch for them?"

I really wasn't paying any attention to the rest of the exchange because I was seriously pissed about this idea. Sitting in a booth just waiting for Doug and Lois and not making out with him was not a fun plan. He sat in the booth first, which was kind of odd, because usually he let me in first, and then he didn't even let me sit down.

"Go to the bathroom."

"What?"

"The bathroom. I think you need to use the bathroom."

"For what?" I lowered my voice, bending down. "The _fuck_ do I want to go to the bathroom for?!"

He blinked at me for a second and then nodded his head. "Go. To. The. Bathroom."

It was just something in his face. And it dawned on me. I literally turned and basically ran to the bathroom.

He waited all of half a minute to follow me.

Restaurant bathrooms weren't exactly known for their cleanliness. Even if they were _clean_ in the sense that they looked presentable, there was still something _dirty_ about them.

I loved it. _Really_ loved it.

It felt dirty. It felt wrong. Doug and Lois might already be out there, waiting for us. But fucking hell, it was so hot. The idea alone had me so wet he wasn't going to have to work at all to get me ready.

I was unzipping his jeans before we even had the door open all the way. His jeans were around his ankles before we got into the stall, and he carried me from the door, my legs hitched around his waist. He pushed the door of the stall open with so much force, it sounded like the goddamn door would fall off. The banging noise it made was deafening. I was convinced the entire restaurant could have heard it.

My mouth was permanently sealed over his, as much to devour his mouth as it was to keep us as quiet as possible. We still weren't quiet.

He shoved my underwear down, but just hiked my skirt and the urgency and almost…it wasn't really aggressive, but that's the only word that my mind could come up with—it was fucking hot that we literally couldn't wait an hour or so to fuck again.

He braced us against the side of the stall, my back right against the mess of numbers and notes and graffiti plastered all over. His hands were cupping my ass, holding me to the wall, holding me to him, moving me.

It was all at Tyler's pace; I couldn't move much at all. But I couldn't have given a shit less when literally every time there was any movement, or hell, even when there wasn't, I didn't have to do much of anything to get his body to grind into my clit.

It was odd—he was doing most of the work here, and I had basically free use of my hands. I arched away from the wall, holding onto his neck and pulled him toward me. It basically put his mouth right next to my tit, and he didn't need any other invitation. It felt oddly like I was in control even though he was the one basically deciding how it would go.

I tightened my thighs around him the same time I started tugging on his hair, and the combination of the added friction inside me with the roughness nearly made him lose his balance. We wound up laughing just as loudly, and really, it was going to be amazing if we weren't asked to leave. I was surprised no one walked in on us.

What I loved about us was the fact that we had fun having sex. We didn't have to be serious all the time and we just had a good time with it. I was still smiling hugely at him, and took his face between my hands.

He readjusted, and started thrusting again, pressing his lips to mine, but his eyes never left mine again.

And just like that we could flip the switch back, and be serious again.

Or the fact that we really needed to finish just became much more important.

He was still inside me when I started giggling. "Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I found a kink."

"Yeah?"

"It's totally sex in public places."

He laughed loudly, and really, we were lucky there weren't that many people in the restaurant. I'm sure everyone in it knew exactly what we'd been doing. Our clothes were all rumpled, and if the noise itself hadn't done it, the fact that we didn't even bother going back to the table separately probably did.

He let me in the booth first this time, and scooted close to me. And we sort of forgot the rest of the restaurant and were just really happy and I'm sure that was why we didn't really even realize Doug and Lois had gotten there until they were basically hovering over the table.

"Oh, shit. Hi!" I shoved at Tyler to get out of the booth. "I'm sorry. We weren't paying attention." I hugged Doug first, and then Lois before backing up a step and grabbing Tyler's hand. "Doug, Lois, this is Tyler. Tyler, this is Doug and Lois."

Tyler put his other hand out, and shook both of theirs. "It's nice to meet both of you. Did you have a good trip?"

Lois was the first to answer. "Yes, the flight was good, and we didn't have any delays."

"Have you been to New York before?"

"Doug's been here on business quite a few times, but I've only been here once before."

Shit he could be charming when he wanted to be. I mean, I found him charming pretty much all the time—when he was being himself and a complete dork, right up to the every time he had me screaming his name in completely orgasmic bliss. But the boy could really be…perfect. And it wasn't an act. He wasn't making himself out to be awesome. He was just generally very likable. And he could hold conversations. I loved him.

And I realized how much I wanted them to love him, too. If they didn't, nothing would change. But it would be nice. It would be easier. And it would be fun to just share the awesomeness of Tyler with people that cared about me. For those people to see how happy he made me, how much he changed my life. There really weren't better people to have that experience. They'd seen me at one of my worsts. I wanted them to see me now, at one of my bests. It wasn't that I needed the approval or the sense of accomplishment; I just genuinely wanted them to know that I was happy here—that what they wanted for me, and what I couldn't let them give me—I had that now. And I'd done it myself.

He was holding my hand under the table. I was leaning on him, my arm pressed right up against his. I loved the warmth that seeped into my body from his. I felt really _close_ to him in every sense of the word, not just physical. A lot of it was just both a literal and nonliteral kind of thing because I could still feel him inside me in every sense of that, too. But sitting here with him, with Doug and Lois on the other side of the table…it was so strange—to even be here.

We ordered quickly before the questions started.

"So what do you do, Tyler?"

"I work at a bookstore and I take classes at NYU."

"What are you studying?" Doug asked that one. I smirked at his tone. Doug could have this way of being… I don't know how to describe it really. Sort of like a definite kind of judgment in his tone but masked in a way that it didn't seem that way.

"I honestly don't have a major. I wasn't really very serious about school. I took classes that interested me, and figured out a way to do that without having to get grades, but that's something I need to do—decide what I want to study and then do that."

Wow. He had the ability to still impress me. And he obviously knew that honesty was best here. I loved him even more for that. He wasn't going to bullshit Doug. Because I think he knew that it wouldn't fly. I never asked him about school really. It was nice to know he was thinking about it seriously. I'd ask him about it later.

Doug nodded once, I couldn't tell if that was really a positive nod or not. Lois nodded in that agreeably-nice way she had, like she thought that was a decent answer.

"Are you from New York?"

"Yeah, I was born here."

"Your family still here?"

"Yes."

"What do your parents do?"

Christ this was like the third degree. He was handling it really well, though. He didn't seem at all put off or annoyed with all of their questions.

"My mother is a social worker, and my father works in finance. I'm not sure what he does exactly, but he thinks is extremely important. They're divorced; my mother is remarried. My sister lives with my mom and her husband."

"Oh, you have a sister?"

Tyler smiled. "Yeah, she's twelve. Almost thirteen."

"She's amazing," I chimed in.

Tyler's smile was soft when he turned to me. "I think so, but I'm biased."

"That's a big age difference. Was that difficult when you were growing up?"

"Sort of, but no really. She's always been the little sister, the baby. And the only girl."

"You have other siblings?"

Shit. I felt bad now. I should have told them that his family wasn't a topic he enjoyed discussing for that reason.

"I had an older brother. He passed away."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Lois made a move to touch his hand across the table, and he let her.

"Thanks."

"We lost our daughter."

Tyler nodded. "Allison mentioned that. It's hard. I can't imagine from a parent's position. It was bad enough from a sibling's. I'm sorry for your loss, too." Tyler had kept her hand for the whole exchange, only letting it go after a last squeeze.

Lois loved him already. I could tell. She kept smiling at me. Doug was harder to read. He didn't give as much away. I couldn't tell what he really thought of Tyler yet.

The food came and I really don't even remember what the conversation was about—but it wasn't anything really deep or serious. Just bullshit and chatting.

After we were done eating, I knew the second Doug pushed his plate away that shit was gonna start. I knew that look.

"So, Tyler…"

Tyler looked over at him expectantly, and I really didn't know what to expect. I just knew it was Doug's turn.

"How long have you and Allison been dating?"

"We met on March 18th. We went on our first date on March 24th. So technically yesterday was our seven month meeting anniversary. Worked out nicely since it's her birthday, too. But if you go by our first date, then we have a few days to wait."

I'm totally sure my mouth was hanging wide open. Who the fuck remembers all that shit? Doug didn't seem fazed at all. Or impressed. At least not yet.

"Seven months isn't that long."

He shrugged. "Seems like a lot longer actually. It's odd that it's only been that long. I've loved her forever."

"Oh, Jesus," I said.

"What?" He turned to me. "I was patient. I didn't tell you. I just loved you quietly."

I shook my head. "Well, you can obviously see he's a gigantic dork. It's one of his finer qualities."

Doug kind of ignored all of that. "How do you know you love her?"

Tyler watched Doug for a second, and I exchanged a look with Lois, wondering if that wasn't something Tyler thought he shouldn't have asked or something. I had no fucking idea how this shit went, or what people really asked in situations like this.

"I knew for a long time that I cared about her. I mean," he stopped for a second to look at me, "she's amazing. I don't have to tell you that. She's special. She's different. She's unlike anyone else I've ever met. She's frustrating and I love all of her quirks and she's good at loving me, too. She's the first thing I think about when we wake up, and the last thing I think about we go to bed. And pretty much everything in between. And that's not going to change."

His entire speech there was pretty much swoon-worthy, but Doug honed in on one particular part. He sat forward in the booth. "You said _we_ wake up, and _we_ go to bed."

Tyler nodded. I really didn't know what the fuck Doug was asking about. "That's because she basically lives at my apartment."

Doug sat back. "That's not a very long time to be dating to be living together already."

"It's not practical to _not_ live together. If she didn't stay at my place, I'd be staying at hers. And it just sort of happened that way. It just progressed there."

"Do you know where she's from? Where we met?"

Tyler looked mildly annoyed at that one. "Of course." And I realized when he continued that it wasn't because he thought that was an obvious question, it was because of what he realized Doug was implying. I hadn't really even caught it until Tyler kept going. "I never wanted to change her. Any part of her. Her past doesn't matter to me. I'm incredibly sorry it happened to her, and I wish I could change it, but I can only make this part of her life better by not being like any of the assholes she knew before."

"What makes you different?"

"Look, I'm not perfect. I make mistakes all the time. But I'm not the kind of guy that doesn't own up to the mistakes I make. And I try not to make them again. I know what loving her means. And I think I'm pretty good at that."

What was funny was that I told Doug all of his information already. Or we at least briefly touched on it. What was he doing here? Fact checking? Seeing if Tyler would lie? I guess people could snow others all the time and Doug just wanted to make sure I wasn't being snowed. It should have been pretty fucking obvious just from the way Tyler answered that he was completely different.

"I stopped stripping," I announced suddenly, to the entire restaurant basically.

Doug stopped his interrogation, surprised, both eyebrows going up. Lois was, like, beaming at me. She did the hand grab over the table again. "That's wonderful." She smiled at Tyler. "I bet that makes you very happy, too."

He shrugged. "I mean, I'm not going to lie. It does. But I tried not to tell her what to do." He smirked at Lois and she winked back at him. "I wanted to. Tell her to stop. But," he paused, moved his hand back and forth for a second, "she's stubborn as hell, so it wouldn't have done any good."

I shoved at him with my shoulder. "Asshole."

He kissed me impulsively and for a second, I didn't know what to do with it because they were sitting right there. But he was smiling at me, and it was totally ok for us to just do that, so I impulsively did it right back.

I looked at Doug across the table, smirking slightly. "Did you do that for him?"

"It was nice for him, but I did it for me. Because I didn't want to be a stripper in a relationship. And it felt different—it has for a long time. I love him, and I can't be in love with him and have a job as a stripper. I couldn't for myself anymore."

Lois was practically beaming with her smile. Doug's was less obvious, but I knew him well enough to know that he was happy about it, too.

Tyler and I hadn't really discussed who was going to be paying for the meal. I think both Tyler and Doug had plans to pick up the check, but I snatched it away before either of them could lay some guy-claim to it. Both would probably find it insulting it the other one paid, so this was just cleaner and easier.

"What are you doing?" Tyler asked me.

I smiled at him. "I'm taking out my favorite people for brunch."

Doug clicked his tongue. "I was going to do that."

"Well tough shit for both of you then, I guess. Sucks to be you guys."

Neither one could really argue with that—because I totally ruled.

~ooOoo~

We decided to spend the afternoon in Central Park. The leaves had started to turn, and the park was sort of alive with tons of different colors of red, gold, orange and brown. Doug was oddly interested in a lot of the military statues in the park, or maybe that was more of a guy-thing. Lois seemed completely amazed by the largeness of the park, and the amount of different kinds of leaves. She also took to reading just about every piece of information from the brochure we picked up for her on the way into the park—out loud. I thought it might be annoying to Tyler, but he had a smile on his face the entire time, holding my hand as we guided them around places.

I couldn't really describe my feelings. It was odd to be with Doug and Lois again at all, much less taking them on a walking tour of Central Park. Not that it hadn't before but…it felt so much more like this city was mine. I was showing it to someone. I was showing it to someone with Tyler right here with me. I was a part of the city now. And it felt like a home. No city had ever really felt like home before.

Doug finally announced he had to sit, and Tyler and Lois went off in search of drinks while I plunked down next to Doug on a bench.

We sat in silence for a minute, just people-watching.

He nudged my shoulder with his. "You're different with him."

I turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Just different."

I didn't say anything for a while. "Is that good?"

He was looking out at the people passing us, arms crossed over his chest. He nodded gently. "Yeah, it's good."

I nodded once back, but I don't think he saw me.

"You seem happy."

When I looked back at him again, he was watching me, a small smile on his face. "I am happy. He makes me happy."

"I'm glad you're happy." He looked away for a second and then started again. "I guess he seems like a good kid. From what I can tell anyway."

I giggled.

He turned to me again, smiling. "He cares about you. And he seems to be taking good care of you."

"He does," I agreed.

"And if he hurts you, I'll rip his arms off and feed them to him, so as long as we've got that out in the open, I guess I think he's ok."

I hugged him impulsively. I actually couldn't remember if I'd ever done that before. He was surprised, letting out a little noise. "Thank you."

"Um, you're welcome." He cleared his throat, patting me awkwardly like random hugs were not something that happened to him often. He was smiling though, so I think he liked it even if it was a surprise.

I heard Tyler's voice before I saw him. "So Lois tells me you're seeing a few Broadway shows."

Doug rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm thrilled."

Lois swatted him. "He is. He's just holding in is his excitement."

Doug smirked. "Maybe Allison should go with you. Tyler and I could go have a few beers."

Oh, fuck no. "Um, no, I wouldn't want to take that experience away from you. And I live here. I can go anytime. You should definitely go."

He side-eyed me. "Thanks."

~ooOoo~

We parted after the park, going in separate directions. We still had to walk through part of it to leave, and it was really stunning in the fall. The colors were amazing; all the trees were turning and were so bright. The sun was setting, and it just gave everything an incredibly warm glow. The trees looked like they were lit up. The sky was almost intense with its light; oranges and pinks spiked across the horizon. I really loved this city. It was loud, and it was rude at times, and there were way too many fucking people, but I loved it. I loved how alive it felt; how the entire park felt happy while still winding down for the day. Like the park slept just like the people in the city. People were going home; no one looked like they hadn't enjoyed their day in the park.

Walking with Tyler, I was no exception. And I felt like I was a part of something larger. Like we all had some big secret about being happy. I couldn't remember having a better few days. Ever.

I didn't even tell Tyler I was happy. I think he could see that. And he didn't say anything either, so we spent most of the walk out of the park in silence; both of us just enjoying the last traces of the fall that would be leaving us, and the birthday I was leaving behind. It'd been a great year.

By the time we got back to the apartment, I was really happily looking forward to something else.

"Who would have thought there would ever be so much drama in Indianapolis?"

"What?" I said this as I was literally unbuttoning his shirt.

"Lois was telling me about her book club."

"Her what now?" Shirt was unbuttoned and shoved off of his shoulders.

"Her book club. Apparently all of these housewives in Indiana really need more to do. She was telling me that the last meeting they had Karen snubbed Cathy because that last time she hosted the meeting she put nuts in the brownies even though she knew Judith has a nut allergy and that's why Lois always services lemon squares instead, because no one in the world is allergic to lemon really, but lots of people have nut allergies. There's like a level of cultural, suburban thinking there that I'll never understand."

I think my expression probably spoke for itself. Fucking _Indianapolis Book Club_?! I started on his pants.

"She's actually very well-read, though. Not like those Oprah-books and shit. That's what the book club reads, but she's into all sorts of other really cool shit. She likes a ton of different genres and I was really shocked to find out she's read a ton of Thomas Harris books. But she'll read short stories or Boccaccio just the same. We were talking about this one book she just read about that I think I'm totally going to check out even though I'm not really into fiction that much. She's kind of given me a different perspective about fiction as a genre."

"What the actual _fuck_ are you talking about right now?"

"Lois' reading habits?"

"Why are we talking about Lois' reading habits?"

"I liked Lois."

"I like Lois, too. And Doug. But…did you not notice how I'm trying to fuck you right now? Why are we talking about fiction as a genre? I don't even know what the fuck that means."

"I mean, I could tell you about what it means."

"I don't care what it means right now. You talk too fucking much." I said, smirking and pulling his boxers down. "Shut up."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

~ooOoo~

The _fuck_ was he doing out there? He said he was just grabbing a beer. Because apparently beers were necessary after great sex. He was gone way longer than just getting a beer. Which meant I was just left there to think. To think about what a huge, adorable dork he was with all his talking and book clubs, and how amazing he was to introduce to Doug and Lois. I couldn't have imagined that meeting going any better. It was perfect.

Lois had pulled me aside before they left. I didn't think of her as a mother-figure really. I didn't really think of Doug as a father-figure, either. They were family to me in whatever sense that meant to someone who didn't have family. I didn't really consider them role models, but their relationship had weathered a lot, and their opinions still mattered to me. I didn't really look to them for advice, but it as ok if they gave it to me anyway. I think they both realized that the arrangement they would have liked was just not something I could agree to.

Still…

She took my hand, and I was instantly transported back to one of the first conversations we had where they took me shopping for clothes and she helped me find bras, which at the time had seemed really fucking weird to me, but now just felt like a fond, if bizarre memory. "Allison, I have no real… I'm not your mother, but I can't tell you how proud I am that you made the decision to stop stripping. And that might not mean anything to you, but I still needed you to know that. And Doug is, too. Even if he doesn't tell you."

I smiled at her, sorry that it was so evident that I had rejected their offer of being like a foster set of parents to me. They were nice people. I just couldn't get attached in my life at that time. And I wasn't sure that was something I ever really would really be capable of. Tyler was different. It was a different kind of relationship. But still, I was sorry that I couldn't just let her be that for me. "It does mean a lot to me. You guys are basically all the family I have."

She gave me one of those 'mom smiles.' At least that's what I think they were called. The ones where they're really happy with something you've said and they want to hug you instantly, which is what she did the next second.

When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. "I'm so happy you met Tyler. He seems like a wonderful young man."

If it would have been anyone else, I probably would have snickered at the _wonderful young man_. I mean, he was; that was just not how anyone had ever described Tyler to me. Instead I nodded and managed just a smile. "I think he's pretty great, yeah. He's different. Much different."

"He loves you. His whole face lights up at just your name. But then so does yours at his."

Maybe I should have tried being more involved or interested in them both all along. Her and her stupid book club. She cared about me a lot. I knew that. And I cared about them both, too. Until Tyler though, I don't think I realized how much. Or what that really meant to me now. I was glad I told her she was family.

"Maybe sometime soon you guys can come to visit us. Or we can come out again. This was really nice. We miss you. I'm so glad we got to visit and meet Tyler. You know you can call anytime, right?"

I nodded. "I know."

"For anything."

"Thank you."

She hugged me again before walking off to join Doug. I was really happy they visited. Not just to meet Tyler, but just to see me. It was nice. The perfect cap to a great birthday…

"What are you smiling about?" Tyler asked quietly, coming back into the room finally. "Sex is that good, yeah?"

I scoffed. "Well, we could be having more of it if you weren't so busy… What the fuck is all that?"

He was smiling at me; like, huge-shit-eating-grin kind of smiling. And his arms were loaded with food. Way too much food.

"I had to raid the fridge."

"For what? Are we having a party?"

"No! It takes lots of different foods to recharge, ya know. Sustenance."

I surveyed the shit he dumped on the bed. Two people could never eat all of this food.

"And what kind of recharging food is cheese in a can?"

"Dairy!"

I rolled my eyes. "Right. I'm guessing you're putting it on the crackers. And this? What about these? Cheetos? Also dairy?"

"Pffffft, no, those are obviously a snack food."

"Cold pizza, grapes, baby carrots… Is this even still good?" I held up some questionable looking leftovers in a container.

He surveyed them, complete with the smell test. He set that on the dresser. "We'll pass on that one."

"Salami? No bread?"

"Who needs bread to eat salami? Plus you can make a little sandwich with the crackers and the cheese. Or get crazy and roll the cheese _inside_ the salami. It'll be epic. Or I have pepper jack cheese if you want more zip."

"Epic for sure. Most fun I've had with my clothes off."

"Well I didn't really intend to spray cheese your tits, but I could get on board with that." He shrugged. "If you want."

"I think I'm actually good without it. Shocking, I know."

"I have leftover Chinese, too. Pretty sure that's still good."

"Are we, like, camping out here? For days? Are you really this hungry? What are we going to do with all this food, baby?"

He sat down next to me, back against the wall, smiling at me. "Well, you know more than anyone else just how dedicated I am to your sexual satisfaction. And it was kind of a big day. Night, day, all of it. Multiple orgasms don't just happen, ya know. They take real work. Recharging is necessary sometimes."

I ran my hand through his hair. "Mmm, I see."

"So? What were you thinking about?"

I shrugged. I think I could have taken him more seriously if he wasn't slathering peanut butter all over a piece of celery when he asked. "Just thinking. I think I made Lois really happy today."

"Yeah?"

I nodded, smiling fondly. "I told her we were family. She seemed to really like that."

He hummed quietly at me, spraying cheese onto a cracker and talking around it after he shoved it in his mouth. "Yeah, well, Doug threatened to kill me and throw my body in the Hudson if I ever hurt you. I think we really bonded."

I burst out laughing. "He liked you enough to dispose of your body." He held out a cracker complete with a huge amount of cheese on it. Of course, I took it.

"Seriously. He could have just left my body to drop wherever it landed. Instead he was going to lovingly drop my carcass into the river."

"He wouldn't do that for just anyone."

"No, I totally get special treatment."

"I had a really great birthday, Tyler. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Lois wants us to visit them. Or she wants to come out again soon."

He was smirking at me.

"What?"

"Just wondering why we're still talking about Lois. Like, what the actual fuck are you even talking about?"

I giggled and scooted closer to him. "What? I was impatient. And you just kept talking and talking about books and shit. It's kind of a mood killer."

"It is not. Books are way sexy. If I started talking to you about books, you'd swoon."

"I'd _swoon_?" I laughed. "Would these be the Oprah Book Club books you're jonesing to read now?"

"I am not jonesing to read Oprah books. There are just plenty that are very sexy."

Honestly, it probably would be. Tyler reading was like foreplay, so him talking about books all geeked-out probably wouldn't be any different.

"I have way more books all stored at my mom's. It'd be nice to have them all with me, like if we had a place without Aidan, the child that lives here."

I'm not sure he really noticed what he said. Judging by the way he was still shoving mouthfuls of lo mein in his mouth, I think he said it without really realizing. A place without Aidan, as in, a place for just Tyler and me. A place that was just ours. _Our place._ When he suggested that before, I was not in any place to even consider that a possibility. Now, though…now I could see it easily. We lived together anyway. What would a difference in address make? Would it really be that huge of a step to live just together? Seemed easier now.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	47. Chapter 47

**************************************Thanks to everyone that continues to review! T**hank you so much. 

**********************I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

* * *

**APOV**

Ya know, when I got off the stage and started bartending, I never thought that all of the assholes that used to hassle me would go away, but I liked the idea of the bar being between us where before there wasn't that barrier.

Not all of them were strictly _assholes_. I understood that a lot of guys that hung out in strip clubs were just lonely, or looking for something they were missing, something they weren't getting. Then there were the guys that were the true meaning of the word; the skeevy, gross, inappropriate, entitled assholes that the world could be rid of.

Then there were those annoying guys. The ones that probably could be decent if they wanted to be, but instead chose to be entitled, super-important assholes.

_Todd_ was one of those. From the second he walked in the door, I knew he was one of those guys who walked and talked like a huge dick, but I was 100% sure he had a very tiny one. He oozed that disgusting kind of confidence that turned me, and probably every other woman he'd ever met, off instantly. Because it wasn't really confidence at all; it was a puffed up version of what he thought his ego was. God, it was like he screamed 'fucking tool' from all the way over there. His hair was a dirty kind of blonde with too much product and his suit was expensive-looking, but I was pretty fucking sure it was a knock-off.

He talked loudly, so basically the entire club could hear him. Within the first few minutes, I already knew his name, that he was in the city for a big job interview, and he'd just stopped in for lunch.

"You got wings here, sweetie?" I cringed and was eternally thankful my waitressing career had been short-lived when he immediately followed that with a pat to Mandi's ass. I couldn't hear exactly what she said back to him, but I snickered when I think her response was definitely something to do with him losing his hand if he didn't remove it.

What an obnoxious prick.

And I guess it my day to share, because he seemed disinterested in the stage, and made eye contact with me instead. Fuck.

"I'll take those wings at the bar," he announced to the entire club, and made his way over to me.

Lucky me.

"Wow, is it hot in here, or is it just you?"

I actually burst out laughing. I mean, I couldn't stop myself. He, unfortunately, thought that meant that I actually enjoyed that completely horrible line, and took that as invitation to keep going.

"Seriously, though. You're the hottest girl in this place. You dance?"

"I do not."

"Damn. Too bad. I was hoping to get a lap dance with my wings. I'd make it worth your while. I make more money than you can spend. I'm Todd." He held out his hand.

I did not shake it. "Can I get you something?" I also didn't tell him my name. I suppose I could have told him Mallory, but I'd given her up a long time ago, and I was kind of proud that I didn't use her this time.

Ugh. He wasn't at all deterred. "I'll have a beer. Whatever you have on tap. I trust your taste already."

If I could have spit in it, I would have. I sat it down in front of him.

"I'm in town for a job interview. Finance firm."

"Fascinating," I deadpanned.

"You are so gorgeous. Where are you from? I'm from Jersey."

"I'm from all over."

"Yeah, worldly, huh? I've been all over, too. I love to travel. Do you like traveling?"

"Nope. I pretty much like staying where I am."

"I would love to take you places."

How charming. "Yeah," I said quietly, trying to look busy.

"God, I just can't believe how gorgeous you are. When do you get off? I could stick around and we could go out."

"Thought you had a job interview."

"After. I'll come back after."

Thankfully his wings were ready and he could stuff his face for a minute or so. Jesus, guys like this just never learned. And didn't take hints.

I could take my break soon. At least that would give me a while away from this asshole. Maybe he'd find someone new to torture.

"Hey, sexy." Score! Another customer.

"Hi. What can I get'cha?"

"How 'bout a Scotch?"

"You bet."

"You new here?"

"Nope. Been here for a couple years."

"Nah, really?"

"Yep."

"I would have recognized you before. You're lying."

"Nope. I'll tell you a secret though."

He leaned closer, turning his ear towards me.

"I used to be a stripper," I whispered, loudly enough for Todd to hear. He actually stopped stuffing his face with the wings to look at me all surprised. He scoffed.

"Get the fuck out. Here?"

I nodded, smiling innocently.

"God, I bet you looked amazing on stage."

"Nah," I said, shrugging it off, cleaning the section of the bar he was at completely unnecessarily.

"Don't sell yourself short." He leaned over the bar, and I didn't move. "You have a great ass. Nice tits. You're beautiful."

I blushed, and was really amused that I pulled it off. Todd said, "What?!" really loudly, but we both ignored him.

He put his hand out. "I'm Tyler."

"Allison," I said, shaking his hand.

He kept it in his, pulling me forward. "Your hands are perfect. So soft. I can think of a few things you could do with them."

"Yeah? Bet I could, too. I'm good with my hands."

"God, you're adorable. You're making me hard."

"Yeah? That's good. Can I tell you something?"

"Another secret?"

I nodded.

He leaned over again, but kept my hand, so I was basically bent over the bar, my tits pressed into the wood on top of it.

"I'm so wet right now," I whispered again, loud enough for the asshole to hear.

"What the fuck?" he said under his breath, looking completely stumped why I was so into Tyler but not into him at all. We ignored him some more.

"I wanna fuck you."

"I know a place we can go."

"You taking a break anytime soon? I can hang around. Enjoy my Scotch. You can tell me all about it."

"Ten minutes."

I wish I could have taken a picture of this asshole. His expression, his confusion, everything was so fucking funny. He'd been trying to flirt with me for the better part of an hour, and he had no idea why I was giving Tyler all this play, and he got none.

"Hey, sugar," he called. "Can I get another?" Determined motherfucker.

_Sugar_!? I glanced at Tyler who rolled his eyes. Skeevy. Did he think calling me something completely gross would make me swoon when everything else had failed? I went over anyway, because that was, ya know, my job, and set another beer down in front of him.

"Hey, you know you can wax my cock any time you want, sweetheart. You got the lips for it. Or if you want a decent fuck, you don't have to go off with that guy."

Tyler pushed away from the bar and started down the length over to the guy. He wasn't a big guy, and I was certain he was all talk, so it wasn't like Tyler couldn't have taken him, but I didn't really want him to start a fight while visiting me at work. That had gone _so well_ the first time, and he was just getting to be known around the club. It would set things back in a huge way.

It was useless to say anything, of course.

Tyler was close enough to be dangerous but far enough away that I didn't think he was actually going to start throwing punches. "You want your balls ripped off and fed to you?"

Todd coughed, totally confused. "No," he grumbled.

"Then back off. Don't talk to her." Tyler looked back at me. "How 'bout taking that break a few minutes early. That cool?"

I nodded, smiling. "Anatoly?" I called. He looked up from the table he was sitting at, going over something with Dimitri. "I'm taking my break."

He nodded, making the shoo-ing hand motion. "I'll watch the bar."

I grabbed Tyler's hand and started pulling him through the club, towards the back where all the dressing rooms were.

"Who the fuck does that guy think he is?"

"He's just some asshole that came in."

He pulled on my hand and stopped for a second. "You mean he's never even been here before and he talked to you like that?"

I was about to tell him not to get upset about it, and not to go all boyfriend crazy and beat someone's ass when it occurred to me. "How long were you there before you said something?"

The anger was gone immediately. He coughed. "A few minutes."

"A few minutes, huh?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, just a few. Just making sure I didn't need to step in. You were awesome."

I laughed. "I know my way around assholes. Been ignoring their shit for many years. Your entrance was good, though."

"Yeah?"

"It was." I nodded. "He was so confused." I giggled. "It was so funny to see his face."

He chuckled. "I thought he'd be more surprised with what we were saying. We were pretty graphic."

"I think he was more pissed off yours worked and his didn't." I pulled on his hand again. "C'mon."

"Well, I'm not a gigantic dickwad, so yeah, mine worked."

"You're way cuter, too."

"Well, yeah!"

I laughed while pushing open one of the dressing room doors. There was no one at the vanity, but the lights were on. Vanity was sort of a misleading word—it was a vanity in the sense that it had a place you could sit in front of the mirror and check your makeup and shit, but a few of the lights were out, and it had a decent level of seedy grime to it—it was still better than half the places I had been.

Tyler looked around for a second, scanning the room. "Did you use this dressing room?"

"Yes," I said, half drowned in kissing him. "Why?"

"Just curious. It's not every day you get a backstage tour of a strip club."

I laughed against his mouth. "I'll give you the full tour." I cupped him through his jeans. "You weren't lying…"

"You always make me hard. Christ, I get hard just looking at you."

"That's good, 'cause I only have a few minutes. Think you can handle a quick tour? We can have a longer tour at home later."

He smirked and backed me up to the vanity, his hands already undoing my jeans and shoving them down. He undid his jeans enough to get his cock out, and lifted me, setting me on the end of it. "I can be quick."

There was a distinct sound of scoffing from the other side of the room. "Christ, are you really gonna do this here? Right now?"

Tyler didn't move, and I didn't either. "Yeah, we're totally gonna have sex right now. And I only have a few minutes before my break is over, so we're doing whether you're here or not."

She threw the mascara she had in her hand on the other vanity and got up. "Fucking hell. I hate you. You suck."

But she left. That was the important part.

Tyler didn't waste any time; the minute the door was shut again, his mouth was on mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth, the kiss deep and slow and wet. Kisses like that always made me melt. I loved that he could pour every feeling he had into a kiss. "Been thinking about you all day. I had to see you. Want you so bad. Gonna take you."

I moaned into his mouth. There was something even more oddly intimate about him telling me exactly what he'd been thinking about—that coming down here and fucking me quickly, or wanting to had been on his mind all day. That he'd actually made a plan to do this. And the desperate edge to his voice, and the way his movements were all jerky and fast, knowing the intent—I was so wet.

Like he could read my mind, he lifted me off of the edge of the vanity, shoved my underwear down, and then pushed me back to sit on just the edge. He fell to his knees and I yelled in surprise when his tongue started lapping at me, making sure I was wet before he just pushed inside of me.

Considerate even when we were hurried and about to have a quickie. He didn't stay on his knees long. Just long enough that he was satisfied I was wet enough. Then he was back on his feet, grabbing at me and turning me around.

Oh, fucking hell.

"This'll be better. Come faster."

Not to mention I could see him in the goddamn mirror. And he knew it. He was grinning—we were both flushed, he still had all of his clothes on, but his cock was out, hard and leaking. My eyes caught his in the mirror just before he slipped inside, and I yelled out again at the feeling both his cock opening me up, and his fingers quickly following to rub my clit.

We were not being quiet. _At all_.

It wasn't a normal environment, and the idea that literally anyone could walk in at any moment—another one of the girls, my damn boss—any of them—and that I couldn't even be bothered to give a shit.

Yev himself could have walked in and I wouldn't have asked Tyler to stop.

It felt too good, and he was too fucking addictive. It was _exciting_. I think we'd definitely nailed that one of my kinks was sex in public.

"Faster," I breathed out, loving the way I could see him thrusting into me from the reflection in the mirror. I loved how we looked. The way it was so hard to focus because he was forcing sensation in all the right places so I would get off, too during this—one hand gripping my hip, and the other rubbing my clit in ways that only he knew.

The _excitement _level here was not something that either of us could hold in. "Harder, Tyler."

He groaned again, his head dropping back while he complied; the sound of his balls slapping against my skin getting louder. I loved feeling his cock move in me this fast; the way he knew every angle.

I felt taken. In the best possible fucking way.

I came screaming—and I still came first. He knew me too well. And I got to watch him come in the mirror, which was almost better than my own orgasm. I was gonna be wet the entire rest of the day. Fucker. He knew it, too. I'd be thinking about this until I got to leave.

Hell, I'd think about this _every_ day I was at work now. Shit.

He leaned around, turning my head and kissed me from behind. I loved kisses like that. Feeling him still inside me, and being kissed on top of it—it was the best kind of possessive feeling. That I belonged to him. Always.

I sighed as he pulled out. "I fucking love you, Tyler."

He chuckled. "I fucking love you, too." He hugged me from behind, pulling me back to him. "You want me to clean you up?"

"Ever the gentleman."

"Well, I wouldn't leave you all messy. Not at work anyway. At home that's a different story."

I didn't even answer, and he'd already started, gentle and yet, it felt no different between us than it had a few minutes ago. I loved that about us. That it didn't matter if we were being quick and hard and fast, or slow and gentle; it was always the same. The feelings were always the same. Intimate and intense—the love was there regardless. He kissed my temple before he stepped back, letting me get the bottom half of my clothes back on while he tucked himself back in and zipped his jeans.

"So who was that? Before."

"Trina."

"Do we like Trina?"

I laughed. "Yeah, she's cool."

"She didn't seem very happy."

I laughed. "She's just jealous. They all are."

"Why?"

I smirked. "Well…we sort of talk about you sometimes."

"About me?"

"Yeah, well, about guys in general. But you come up quite a bit."

"Because?"

"Because they're all jealous of my sex life."

His grin morphed into a full-blown smile. "Yeah?"

"They bitch about guys a lot. Boyfriends, guys here at the club, just guys. And you're, well, _you_, so I never understood what they were talking about. And Jordan finally told them that no one should listen to me because my boyfriend was some kind of fuck god. I kept asking all these questions like—multiple orgasms during sex aren't normal? Your boyfriends don't go down on you all the time? They don't make sure you come? Shit like that. So they're all jealous of our sex life cause theirs suck in comparison."

His smile morphed again into something completely smug and satisfied. He nuzzled his cheek against mine; the stubble was such a turn on. "What's a fuck god?"

I giggled. "It's a new term for boyfriends who are awesome at sex."

"So this is something I can use then? Like I should add it to the resume? Or I can refer to myself as the 'fuck god' now? Hi, I'm Tyler, the god of fucking?"

I shook my head, kissing him quickly. "I dare you to go out there and announce you're the god of fucking."

"You really don't want to tell me that. My god complex demands that I inflate it whenever possible."

I sighed, touching his face. "I have to get back to work."

He nodded. "I know."

"This was nice."

He cocked his head to the side. "Nice? It was _nice_?"

I smiled, nodding and cupping his cheek again. I arched up onto my toes and kissed him gently. "It's always nice. Do you know what I mean?"

"No. Not at all. I'm a fuck god. That was hot, and intense, and hard, and I totally took you in the former dressing room where you dressed to strip. It wasn't _nice_. It was a total fuck god move. I _took _you right here in this dressing room. It was _dangerous_. Your boss, the mobster, could have come in and shot my ass!"

I couldn't stop smiling at him. "Yeah, it was all that." I kissed him again gently. "And it's always more."

He sighed. "Ugh. Fine. Ruin my moment of fuck god-ery."

"Fuck god-ery?"

"I'm a god; I can make up any words I want."

"It's a good thing you're a fuck god, 'cause you're also a major dork."

"I'm versatile."

"You are." I took his hand, pulling him with me. "C'mon, you gotta go before we're dangerous again."

I walked him to the door, and really, the kiss was completely inappropriate for the workplace. I wasn't complaining, but Tyler definitely marked his territory, and reestablished that whole fuck god thing if anyone was questioning. "You be home late?"

"Shouldn't be. Should be earlier tonight."

"I'll keep the bed warm."

I chuckled. "You always do."

"Although you're hot enough to heat this whole place up, right?" He winked at me.

I groaned. "Yes, that's right. Burning. Like fire."

He kissed me again quickly, and then turned to look at Todd, instantly dangerous boyfriend again, yelling across the bar for basically everyone to hear. "You ever say shit like that to her again, I'll kill you. We clear?"

Todd nodded quickly, his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Yeah. Yeah, man."

Tyler waved to me and left, and I went back around the bar, going back to putting glasses away.

"What the fuck was that?"

I smirked. "That was my boyfriend, asshole."

"Shit. Why didn't you just say something?"

I shrugged, still smirking. "Didn't need to."

Todd said nothing else to me, and promptly left after he was finished with his drink. It took Trina about five minutes to stomp her way up to the bar.

"Seriously?"

I hadn't stopped smiling; I wouldn't until I got home to him. I shrugged. "What?"

"Here? You have to bring him here?"

"I didn't bring him here. He just stopped by. Surprised me."

"You realize now that I've seen him, it's just worse, right?"

I bit my lip for a second, squinting. I tried to be humble. I really did. "He's gorgeous, right?"

She let me completely not humble. I kinda loved her for it. "He is one hot piece of ass, honey. The scruffy stubble nearly killed me. So fucking hot. Where did you find him? How do I find one?"

I shrugged, laughing. "He kinda found me. I dunno where they make more of him. They should clone him."

"Honey, if you ever get tired, you know where to send him."

I sighed. "I will never get tired of Tyler."

She was smiling at me. "You got it bad, girl."

"I do. I love him."

She nodded. "I'm so jealous. But you deserve it. I'm happy for you."

I really couldn't even express to her how much that meant. We didn't really hang out or anything. I considered most of the girls here my friends, whatever that meant as just people you worked with and never hung out with. But it still meant a lot to me. "Thank you," I said, hoping that it sounded as sincere as I wanted it to.

She sighed. "You still fucking suck. Flaunter." She smirked, and then walked away—she was going on soon.

If I wasn't smiling enough, the text I got a little while later made me basically completely useless work-wise. It was a good thing that bartending could be sort of mechanical.

_It was nice. And I love you. _

I texted back: _I love you, too. _

_But I'm still a fuck god. _

I snickered. _you are. Trina wanted me to know that she's available should I ever get tired of you._

_That was big of her. I doubt you'll ever tire of a fuck god._

_I staked my claim. _

_So did I. That fuckhead leave?_

_right after you did._

_Good. _

I had to stop for a second to pour some other guy another drink and I came back to: _Come home soon. I miss you. _

Aww. _I miss you, too. I'll be home soon. Should I bring dinner?_

_Fuck gods get very hungry. _

_Chinese? _

_Perfect. _

_see you soon. _

_Fuck god signing off._

_you are such a dork. _

_Versatile!_

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	48. Chapter 48

**Thanks to everyone that continues to review!**

**I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Eight **

* * *

**APOV**

I had come to believe that there were no words more powerful than _I Love You_. Turns out there _were_ three other words that were just as powerful: _I Need You_.

I was at work when I got a text from Tyler saying just that.

I left immediately, telling Anatoly that there was an emergency. I was calling him before I even got out of the building.

"Hey."

"Are you ok?"

"No, not really."

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm at my mom's. Caroline's traumatized—some bitchy little girls cut her hair at a party and I don't know what to do for her really. None of us do."

"They cut her hair?"

"Yeah. Because they're mean, spoiled little cunts. And now they're saying she did it to herself. We really don't know what to do. My mom is freaking out. My dad made, like, an obligatory stop and Caroline wouldn't even talk to him. Her hair looks like someone took a hacksaw to it. I mean there's going to be no way to fix it unless it's all cut really short."

Shit. Kids could be really fucking cruel. And Caroline was different, so that marked her already. "I'm on my way. I'll be there as soon as I can. Ok?"

"Ok."

I was about to hang up when I heard him call my name again. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Of course."

I took a cab because I figured that would be faster than any other way, and I needed to get to him as fast as possible. I didn't know what to expect really when I got there. I'd seen Tyler in just about every mood that I could think of. I wasn't really sure what to classify this one as. He was smoking on the stairs outside of his mom's house when I pulled up. He stood and dropped the cigarette, crushing it and paid for the cab. He didn't need to do that, but the mood didn't look like one that I'd argue with at the moment.

I touched his face as the cab pulled away, and he just started talking.

"I feel completely helpless." His hair was a complete mess, and his fingers were permanently embedded there, tugging like that would help. "I don't know how to help her. I _hate_ that. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do for her. I can't make this right. I mean I _could_. I could make it right and go chop all of their hair off, but I can't do that. She needs me and I don't know what to do."

I grabbed his hands. He was seriously losing it. I pulled him into a hug, holding him to me. He latched on to me tightly, if nothing else because it gave him something to do for a while. Just to let me hold him together. "You're here. That's all she needs right now. Believe me. Sometimes there's nothing you can do but you can just be there. You're awesome at that. You're always there for her."

"I don't know how to fix it."

Aww. I sighed. "You can't fix it, Tyler."

"I need to fix it."

"You can't fix her. She has to do that on her own."

"I can't just do nothing!"

"What have you been doing?"

"I just sat with her for a long time. I read to her for a while. She fell asleep then. She's still sleeping now."

"I'm sure that's exactly what she needed. You know, Tyler. You always know what I need. I can't imagine it's any different with her. You're doing everything you can."

"I think I should be doing more."

I eased back, touching his face again. "Do you want me to try to talk to her? When she's awake?"

He shrugged, wiping his hands over his face while sighing. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"Well I can try if you want."

"Yeah, sure. Might as well."

"How's your mom?"

"She's been on the phone a lot. I think with the parents of the girl that had the party. All of the others girls have basically just lied and said she did it to herself. No one is telling the truth. And it's all of their words against Caroline's. I can't even imagine when she goes back to school."

He was doing the hair tugging shit again. I grabbed his hand. "Let's go in."

~ooOoo~

Tyler wasn't much better when we got inside. He seemed jumpy and nervous and his mother was in the kitchen trying not to fall apart. She didn't look much more successful at not falling apart than he looked not jumpy and nervous. I met Caroline's stepfather in a sort of passing way. He smiled and shook my hand, told me that it was nice to meet me, and he had kind eyes; he looked like a decent guy. He was on his way to check on Caroline, a tray with tea or something on it.

It was sort of awkward in the kitchen. Tyler was distracted and basically pacing, biting his fingernails. Diane sort of had this lost, far-away look, like she was checking out. It was not exactly ideal for, like, the second time we ever met. I wasn't really sure what to do. I was here for Tyler. I came because I knew he needed me. And I mean, I could just stand there, and watch their whole family fall apart, or I could try to do something about it. While I was trying to figure out what that something was, he made the most frustrated noise ever, and slammed his hand down on the counter.

"I have to do something."

"Like what?" I asked.

"I dunno. I just have to be doing something. I can't just stand here."

"There's really nothing else you can do right now."

"Well that's bullshit. I'm gonna go for a while. To the store or something. I'll get stuff for when she wakes up."

I was sort of terrified to be left all alone with his mother. What the fuck would we talk about? It was bad enough meeting her last time. It wasn't exactly a day we could bond and shit. But Tyler was literally vibrating with the need to just be busy. So he needed to go. And I could stay here and try to just help out or whatever.

I gave him a small smile. "Just make sure you're not thinking with your fist."

"I won't," he said, chuckling. "Going to the store is not code for kicking little girl ass."

I nodded. He kissed me quickly, and was out the door.

And then, it was just me and his mom. She didn't really even seem to notice he left.

So… What exactly did you do with a family that's kinda broken? Like so many other times, I didn't have any experience in this area. I could have just sat there with her while she checked out. Or I could have bailed and sat on the stairs until Tyler came back. I could have checked on Caroline, but I think Les was taking that route at the moment.

So I kinda started to cook. I was in a kitchen. I was good around kitchens. And it didn't seem like Diane was going to notice that either for the moment. She didn't seem like she'd care if I rooted around a few cupboards.

I started opening and shutting cabinets quietly until I found a skillet and then dug out the makings of a stovetop casserole. It was easy and fast and reheated well. Maybe it was all for nothing because upset people didn't always like to eat, but it was something _I_ could do for them, and they could eat the leftovers even if they didn't want to eat it now. It made me less nervous to be doing something, too, even if it was sort of odd for me to be using her kitchen without asking and shit. Maybe I needed to do something as much as Tyler did.

I think I was somewhere around throwing frozen vegetables in when she sort of came out of her check-out.

"Are you cooking?" she asked quietly.

I nodded and smiled over my shoulder before shrugging. "Seemed like something I could do."

"That's very thoughtful."

"I wasn't sure anyone would want to eat right now, but I figured you could eat it later and not have to make a meal or something. I dunno. Tyler always seems to be hungry so food never goes to waste around him."

"Really?"

I nodded again, stirring. "Yeah." I thought a second about that and then turned to look at her. "Hasn't he always been a big eater?"

"Tyler?" She chuckled. "No, not really. He was always really skinny growing up. I think his teachers used to think I didn't feed him."

It was my turn. "Really?" I shook my head. "I can't even imagine that. Usually with me he eats like a fucking fat kid that can't get enough cake."

She laughed. Loudly. And then stifled her giggles with her hand.

I realized immediately what I just said. To his _mother._ Fucking hell, why don't I just talk about our sex life, too? On meeting _two_. "I'm so sorry," I said quickly. "I shouldn't have said that. Or swore. I don't really… There's no filter sometimes. And I really shouldn't have said that about fat kids. I love kids. All kids." _Oh my God, shut the fuck up! You like fat kids?!_

She waved me off, laughing harder. "No, I think I really needed that. It's fine."

I nodded, turning back to the casserole. I should have really just focused on that. And kept my mouth shut.

"What kind of food does Tyler like?"

That was kind of an odd question. Like he never ate with her? "Um, he doesn't really care honestly, I don't think. He likes all kinds of food. He really likes this chicken I make. And he really seems to like bacon, I dunno why. I think that's a guy thing. He likes anything that's home-cooked basically. I think since he's been in school he ate a lot of take out and fast meals, so he seems to really like it if I actually cook something. What kind of food did he like growing up?"

"Well I can tell you he hated scallops and wild rice."

"What?"

She chuckled again. "I was never really that great of a cook. I worked and I didn't really feel like making big meals, so they wound up eating a lot faster ones, or sandwiches, things like that. I made scallops and wild rice really well. That was my specialty. But I don't think any of the kids really liked it, and since it was one of the only things I was good at, they got tired of it very quickly."

_Scallops?_ Not something most families have a lot. An interesting choice. I didn't really know what to say, but she didn't really seem to need my input on that one.

"He did like when I made burgers."

"He actually told me that."

"He did?" She seemed surprised.

"Yeah, he said you used to toast the bun."

"I did, yes." She smiled. "It's nice he has at least one good memory of my cooking. Even if it was few and far between."

"I'm sure he has lots of good memories."

"Probably not with food." She propped her head on her hands. "I'm glad you're a better chef than I am."

"Pffft. It's really not that hard. I just got a recipe book and went from there. Anybody can really make anything if they have directions."

"I did not get that gift. That smells wonderful."

I shrugged. "It's fast and easy."

I think she was studying me while I stirred the casserole. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but still kind of nerve-racking. I wasn't sure what she thought of me and my kitchen take-over. I was sort of combing through ideas of what to talk with her about when she just started talking again.

"Tyler seems very happy with you."

"I think he is, yeah. He makes me happy."

"I want you to know that he's never called anyone before. A girl, I mean. He's never brought a girl when we're having a family crisis."

Was that good? I didn't know how to take that exactly.

"He obviously thinks very highly of you. You should know that."

Well I kinda already knew that, but it was really awesome to hear from his mom. I turned, taking the skillet off of the burner. "Thank you. That's really nice to hear."

"What do you think of my son and his crazy, crisis-filled family?"

Well that was a loaded question. What was funny was that it kind of sounded like some of Tyler's: a lot packed in, but no judgment there. See seemed genuinely curious. So I answered honestly because that's all he ever asked for. "I think I've seen a lot worse. And I don't think you're crisis-filled. I think you're pretty normal."

She didn't really respond to my assessment. "Are you from New York?"

"Florida originally," I said shaking my head.

"How did you happen to come to New York?"

"A friend was moving. We were…well, we weren't really roommates, but she was moving here and sort of just took me along with her." I think this was the start of questions, the Q&A section like Doug had done to Tyler, but she was so conversational it didn't really seem that way.

"And you work in a club?"

Oh, that was smooth. That must have been a Caroline original. I had all to do not to laugh. "I bartend, yeah." I took a deep breath. "I used to strip there, though."

She didn't seem at all fazed. "That's not an easy job."

I smirked. "It definitely had downsides."

"Did you meet Tyler there?"

I burst out laughing. "No."

She laughed with me. "Hey, I had boys first. Strip clubs are boy things. I wouldn't put it past him."

"No, we actually met in a bar. He was kind of annoying."

"Now that sounds more like my son."

I smiled. "There was something different about him. Different from other guys I knew. I suppose that's why I went out with him. Even if he was annoying, he was…I don't know what the word is…"

"Intriguing?"

I nodded, smiling more to myself than to her. "Yeah. He was weird. But in a good way."

I think she was smiling because I was smiling. I was getting the sense that she didn't feel like she knew a lot about her son anymore. "Weird how?"

Another loaded question. "He was kinda cocky, but that's not who he is. I've had a lot of bad experiences with guys," I settled on. "I knew instantly there was something different about Tyler. And he worked really hard to prove me right."

I realized the casserole was still sitting there on the cool burner. "Did you want some? Or do you want me to put it away for later. I hope it was ok I sort of just took over your kitchen."

"It's nice someone did. Les does some cooking now and then, but it doesn't get as much use as it should."

"It's a really nice kitchen."

"You're free to come over and use it any time. It'll only be a benefit to us. And I'd love to try some."

So I kind of served Tyler's mother in her own kitchen. And it didn't seem that weird.

"I think we were supposed to have you over for dinner and I would have catered in, not that you'd be making the first meal we have together."

"It's cool. I don't need anything catered in." I didn't want to seem ungrateful for the offer or gesture or thought of that or whatever. I think I sucked at mom-talk. "I mean thank you though, for the thought. But I think I like this better."

"Me, too," she said. "Despite the circumstances. I wish it would be on a better day."

"How is she doing?"

"She hasn't really talked about it. Tyler was with her the most. I think it's easier for her to be with him than it is to be with me. I cry and she cries and then it's just a lot of crying. He can just hold her if she wants to cry. It's different. And she feels safe with him."

I nodded. "She'll be all right." I suppose that was a really stupid thing to say to a mother that was a social worker. Of course she'd be ok. I'm sure she already knew that.

"Thank you." She put her hand on top of mine, and just like her son, I think it meant more than what she was just saying with those two words.

"Of course."

Diane had just finished her plate and was rinsing it off when Tyler sort of tiptoed through the door. It was completely pointless because he was juggling, like, the entire contents of the store, but he was trying to be quiet I think.

"Did you rob the store?" I asked when he started piling the bags onto the counter where I was sitting.

"What? No. Of course not."

I peeked inside the bag closest to me. "Does Caroline like Ding Dongs? 'Cause I dunno, I guess it just could be me, but she doesn't look like a big Ding Dong eater to me."

His face lightened immediately. "I'm going to be a stress eater. The Ding Dongs are for me. And the Pringles. And maybe the second pint of ice cream. I just grabbed a bunch of shit. It's comfort food. For everyone."

"There's casserole on the stove." I nodded in that direction.

He blinked at me. "You made casserole?"

I nodded. "It's on the stove. Probably still pretty warm."

He looked between the stove and me and his mother and me and the stove again. "You made casserole at my mom's house?"

"Yeah. I needed something to do. And I don't have a junk food craving or the need to buy 12 packages of Ding Dongs."

He kissed me impulsively. Right in front of his mother. And then hugged me like he was going to squish the life out of me, basically picking me up right off the stool. "I love you." _Right in front of his mother._

"I love you, too." _Also right in front of his mother._

He set me down and moved over by the stove, grabbed a plate and then came back to sit next to me. The bags seemed forgotten. I ran my hand down the back of his head and left it resting over the nape of his neck as he started to eat. "This is really good."

Comfort food. He could have saved himself the trip and about sixty bucks by the looks of the huge pile of crap he bought. "I'm glad you like it."

He grunted through the next bite. "I always like it."

I sort of forgot Diane was standing right there by the sink. Tyler didn't seem to care she was there watching all of it. When I chanced a glance over at her, kind of sheepishly, she was just smiling at us. I liked that we seemed to put the smile there. It was way better than her checked-out look.

He looked up, too. "Is she still sleeping?"

His mom nodded. "Les is sitting with her. He said he'd come out if she woke up."

He nodded and went back to eating. He sighed after he finished the plate. "I hate this."

There wasn't really anything else we could say to that. So we all sort of sat there in silence for a while before Les appeared. "She's awake."

"She talking?" Tyler asked.

"Not really. I asked her if she wanted some tea and she turned it down."

"I'll go," he said quietly, starting to get up.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him back. "Let me?"

He watched me for a second, and I glanced at his mom, too. I think they were both out of ideas. "Yeah, ok." He sat down again. "It's the first door on the left there. Call if you need something."

I thought about taking some of the junk food with me, but decided against it. I'd start simple. I knocked softly on her door and pushed it open and the entire room was very…Caroline. The walls were purple and there were drawings everywhere; a large painted picture that she'd done hung on one wall.

"Hey," I said quietly.

She was facing away from me, all curled into herself on the bed, but she turned at my voice. I think she was surprised it was me and not someone else.

"Hi."

It seemed really stupid to ask how she was, so I didn't. I just picked a chair over by her desk and plopped myself in it. She wasn't looking at me at all, just staring off into space. She looked a lot like her mom when she did that.

"Tyler bought, like, an entire convenience store's worth of junk food if you want some of it." I decided on.

"No, thanks." Junk food fail.

"I made casserole, too," I tried instead.

"What kind of casserole?" Food interest was good.

"Just a stovetop one. Hamburger, can of soup, few veggies."

"Maybe later." Maybe was better than 'No, thanks.'

"Ok."

She looked really small on the bed. And her hair did look awful. There was no way around it; it was going to have to be cut. And really short. I was sort an authority on depression and fucked up situations. I should be a wiz at this. Should I share horror stories so she could see how it didn't ruin your whole life? Should I tell her how things would get better? And that later in life she'd have an awesome boyfriend like her brother and all of them would be fat cunts with bad dye jobs and fake boobs? I wasn't sure that was productive. Sitting here with her saying absolutely nothing really didn't seem to be a great option. I tried to think of what I wanted to do when I was depressed, or what I tried to do to get myself out of it. Positive things. Not things like my bad example of trying to drug it out into oblivion. What did Caroline like that would distract her?

I sighed quietly, and grabbed a drawing pad that she had on her desk. I grabbed one of her pencils, which was obviously an artsy one, not like a plain-old No. 2, and drew a house. The kind that was basically a square with a triangle on top, a chimney, some piss-poor trees around the property and a really fucking happy sun above all of it.

I turned it toward her. "What do you think?"

Her eyes had been darting to me when I started, which was my first clue I was onto something. She took a long look at my drawing and then her eyes jumped up to mine. "Um…it's very…nice."

"So that means it's just shit, huh?" I smirked.

"No, not at all." She shrugged. "It's just a little…basic."

"Next to yours, it's shit." I pointed to all the drawings on her wall.

She sighed like this was something she'd said to people before. "No, you're just a beginner. It's not shit."

I was surprised she swore, but any emotion was good. It was better if she just let shit out instead of bottled it up. She seemed like a bottler.

She used her patient voice next. "Art is about expression."

"What does that mean?"

"Like, your art is the way you communicate ideas and your emotions."

"So communicate something to me." I held the pad out.

"Like what?"

"How about what you're feeling today?"

"I don't really want to."

Too hard of a push too fast. I shrugged. "Ok. I'll just keep sketching myself then."

I was not a good sketcher/draw-er person. And I made sure I wasn't really trying to be, either. I drew some stick figures and I'm pretty sure Caroline actually flinched. Her mouth and her nose kept moving in this _stooooop _kind of way, and I knew she'd cave eventually.

"Do you…do you want me to tell you how to sketch?"

"Sure. I don't have much… What's the word? My people are flat."

"No dimension," she offered, kind of distractedly.

"Right. Mine are sticks."

"Yeah."

She moved over by me. "Sketching is sort of like a rough description of something. It doesn't have to have detail. You start by picking something that looks interesting to you. Once you have that, you work out the rough shapes and sizes that you can see. Then you work in from that always using value shapes. Sometimes just a line can be better than trying to make huge details. That comes later. So, like, if you can't see an edge in something you're sketching, you don't draw it. You can overlap stuff to make dimensions. When you first start, I wouldn't worry too much about proportions or if things are lining up. Just draw what you see. And when you start, skip stuff like faces and feet—and if you want to try that, use Tyler because he'll be easier than strangers that move around. Sketching isn't about portraits really. That's a much higher level of drawing. So just start with the rougher stuff and work your way there."

Well…I obviously picked the right topic to get her to talk. "So how do I express something if it's just random and I pick it from wherever?"

"It's still what was interesting to you, and how you sketch it is what you're communicating. It's sort of hard to explain until you see what someone's drawn."

I pointed to her wall at one of her drawings of Tyler. "What does that one say?"

She studied it a second. "He was sad that day. I guess I was, too. Or I was just documenting our shared emotion. Sometimes art is about what you're seeing of the world, too. It doesn't just have to be what you're feeling. But it's weird sometimes how what you feel comes out in what you draw anyway."

"So what does my house and piss-poor trees say?"

"That you weren't really thinking about what you were drawing."

"Or I have no art basis whatsoever?"

"No, you just weren't putting anything into it. It's more of a doodle. Does that make sense?"

"You mean my stick figures aren't a work of art?"

"The can be. Anything can be."

"Will you draw with me?"

She considered that for a minute. "Yeah, ok." Score.

She sat down and I looked around her room for something to draw that would be an _expression_. I wasn't entirely sure I really knew what the hell she meant, but I could find something interesting. She had this birdcage in her room. Inside of it was a weird looking pink and purple monster. I decided to try to sketch that. I tried really hard. And I mean, it wasn't horrible, I don't think. It just didn't really look like a birdcage with a pink and purple monster in it.

In the time it'd taken me to sketch that, she'd drawn an entire picture of me. Me sketching.

"Wow," I said.

She shrugged. "I've been doing it a long time," she said quietly.

"My birdcage sucks."

"It does not. You're just trying to do too much detail still. It's hard to sort of work backwards."

"It looks like a blob."

"It has some definition around here. Maybe the stuffed animal should have been left out."

"Yeah that kinda ruined the middle part here."

"It's great for a first sketch."

"What's with the monster in the birdcage? Is that an expression?"

She just looked at me for a second. "Maybe."

"Kids can be real assholes. I'd like to tell you it gets better, but there will always be assholes. They just get bigger. I've never stopped being myself though. Or if I had thoughts of it, it was time for me to do something else. It doesn't matter what other people think of that. They can fuck off. You're amazing just like this. This is amazing what you do. Don't let anybody tell you different. And I think you go to a school with basically the entire population of cunt little girls. Eventually you'll meet people that aren't like that and they won't matter. Don't let them win."

"What's a cunt?"

"It's a really bad word that I'm sure your mother never wants to hear you say. I guess in the most basic way it's a term for women's…" I struggled for the right word. Probably wasn't something I should have said anyway, but it was the only thing appropriate for the situation.

"Genitals?"

"Sure," I said nodding. Good save, Caroline. I don't think I could have been that scientific. "For some reason people find it really offensive, but I dunno, I just like the word. Still, I'm sure your mom wouldn't think it's cool to use it. But the girls that did this to you—that's the best term for them. I'm sorry they did it."

"Me, too."

"It doesn't matter what they say. We all know the truth. That's all that matters."

"School is really going to suck."

"Yeah, it might for a while. But if you just go back like you're proud of yourself and try not to let it bother you, they'll stop. It's no fun if you're not biting."

"How're my two favorite girls doing?" Tyler was standing in the doorway. He gave me this look that I knew meant he was really asking how things were going in here.

I smiled softly. "We're doing ok. Caroline was showing me how to sketch."

"Can I come in?" He was really good at this with her. Not wanting to intrude if she just wanted to hang out with me.

"Yeah," she said, sort of not paying attention to him. She was still darkening lines on the picture of me she drew.

"Did Allison tell you about the massive amount of junk food I bought?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want some? I got Twinkies. And ice cream. And a bunch of other stuff."

"Not right now. Thanks."

He was sort of defeated that it didn't work. I shrugged at him, letting him know that she was still ok even if she didn't want to eat the convenience store he brought home. "What are you sketching?"

I held up my paper. "I drew that." I pointed to the birdcage. "And Caroline already said it didn't suck, so be nice."

He smirked. "It totally doesn't suck. It's great. Good job." He looked over Caroline's shoulder to see her sketch. "Wow. That's amazing. Are you gonna hang that one up?"

"Probably."

"You should. It's really great. Hang it next to one of me. Then we'll be together on the wall."

I snickered. "You are such a fucking dork."

He raised a brow at me.

I waved him off. "Caroline and I have made peace with my lack of swear filter. She's cool with it."

"The girls that cut my hair are total cunts," she announced.

I think Tyler nearly choked. And almost fell over. "What?!"

"They're cunts."

He shot a look at me. "Do _not_ let mom hear you say that."

"It's true," she said just as matter of fact.

"I know it's true, but still. Mom will shit a brick." After the initial shock was over, he kept smirking at me. "I think you're a bad influence."

I shrugged. "I only speak the truth."

It was quite possibly the happiest he'd been all night, other than the brief lightness he had when he was eating. Caroline was at least talking; that was a plus. Score one for the girl with the broken swear filter.

We sketched for a while longer, Caroline giving me pointers while Tyler started in on the massive amount of junk food while reclining on her bed. Eventually he offered to read to her again, and she jumped at the chance to snuggle with him on the bed. They both looked over at me when they were settled. "Well?" he asked.

"What?"

"Are you reading with us?" Caroline asked.

This night was full of surprises. Which is how I wound up on the other side of Caroline, her tiny body smooshed between the two of us while we tested the limits of one twin bed's capacity. Caroline obviously felt the same way about Tyler's reading voice as I did. It was incredibly calming and she fell asleep pretty quickly. I admit I had to fight not to do the same.

"Cunts, huh?" he said quietly over her.

"Well!"

"You're amazing. You know that right?"

"All it takes sometimes is a little bit of swearing. Helps with the anger."

"It was a brilliant idea. And I wouldn't have thought of it because I was too busy freaking out."

"I'm good in a crisis. I can cook and shit."

"You're amazing."

I shrugged.

"So I basically freaked out, spent a fortune in junk food that I'm now eating and getting fat, and you buttoned this shit up in a half hour. I fail at brotherhood."

"You do not fail at brotherhood."

"So you're saying I'm fat?"

I snorted, trying not to wake Caroline. "Just more of you to love?" I teased.

"I was thinking maybe we'd stay here tonight. What do you think about that?"

"In your mom's house?"

"Yeah."

"Where would we be staying?"

"My room. My old room."

"Your mom is ok with that?"

"Yeah, I kinda already talked to her about it."

"Oh."

"We don't have to. If it makes you uncomfortable we can go home. I just thought 'cause it was late and I dunno, I just kinda wanted to be closer tonight."

"No, right, of course. We can stay here."

"It won't weird you out?"

"No, it's cool. It'll be cool to see your room."

He chuckled. "Oh, I see. This is now a ploy to check out my stuff. See what kind of weird shit I was into as a kid."

"Pffft, of course."

~ooOoo~

We left Caroline all tucked in, and I was kind of excited to see his room. I wondered if he was this excited when he first got into my room.

The walls were blue—not a cold, light blue but a warmer, earthy kind of blue. It fit him. The floor was hardwood with a huge, fluffy rug covering a lot of the room. The room, by kid-bedroom standards, was huge in my opinion, but that made sense because the house was huge and they were obviously very well off. There were the normal things most bedrooms had: a desk, dresser, bookshelf that looked like it'd been raided when he moved out. It sort of left a jumbled-looking mess on the shelves—books he hadn't taken, CD Walkman and CDs with other random shit sort of stuffed in. The radiator was painted black, which fit more with the colors—Caroline's was white which wouldn't have gone as well in here. Things that weren't in a normal kid-bedroom: large flat-screen TV, futon (because the fucking room was big enough), elaborate gaming system, killer stereo system that he obviously must have thought would have been ripped off at his place now.

Other stuff made me smile, like the beat-up looking footlocker at the end of his bed, an old skateboard, a poster of _The Departed_, band stickers at odd angles next to the poster on the wall, an album cover layered on top of it all with _Silent Shout_ peeking out, a small collage of pictures, mostly of Michael and Caroline and him. Random shit still littered the floor like Diane hadn't changed anything since he left or she wanted it to be the same if he stayed a night or something. Magazines, papers, guitar strings, a baseball mitt and ball, a bat leaning against the wall.

A tiny globe-like thing caught my eye on the dresser and I turned toward him with it.

"It's the Death Star."

"The what?"

He sighed. "You still have so much to learn, young Padawan."

"Pada-what?"

"Use the force, you will," he said in the most idiotic and strange voice ever.

My blank stare came before the raised eyebrows.

He sighed again, more heavily. "I can't believe you have no knowledge of _Star Wars_. It's obviously moved up on the list of things you need to see."

"If you say so, honey."

I looked over the other stuff on his dresser. A really nice watch, guitar picks littered the top, and in the corner, a really ragged teddy bear. I pointed to it. "Is this _Star Wars_ related?"

"No, that's Woobie."

I snickered. "Did you speak another language as a child?"

He scoffed. "Woobie was my first stuffed animal."

"There were others?" I said smirking.

"Shut up! This is a really important childhood memory I'm trying to share with you."

"Sorry," I said quickly, leaning into him.

"My grandma gave me Woobie when I was born, and I took him _everywhere_."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, until I was like…I dunno, seven or something."

"Seven?!"

"Boys can like stuffed animals!"

"You're cute."

"Don't listen to her Woobie. She doesn't understand the bond between a boy and his bear."

"You're kinda scaring me."

"Oh, shut up."

"What's this?" I pointed to a trophy on a shelf on the wall. "What the fuck is falconry?"

"It's a sport. I was into it when I was younger."

"What kind of sport?"

"You basically train a falcon to hunt smaller game and bring it back to you."

"Ew!"

He laughed. "I suppose that's why I didn't stick with it. I didn't really have the stomach for it. But the birds were incredibly beautiful. Amazing little creatures. Very smart."

"So you won something for it?"

"Yeah, I dabbled as a kid."

I ran my hand over a few other things on the shelf. "So where's your stash?"

"My stash?"

"Yeah, where is it?"

"Are we talking, like, my weed stash or some other kinda stash?"

I shook my head at him. "Your _porn_ stash, honey. Every boy has one."

"Ohhh." He pointed to the nightstand. "I'm not saying it's there, but you might want to check behind the storage container there. Not that I know for sure or anything, but if a teenager in this room was going to hide something of that nature, he might do it there."

I started rifling for it immediately. I'm not sure what even prompted me to ask. I suppose I was curious about the teenage Tyler and what he was into, and if he was still into the same shit.

He only had a few magazines, the rest were all discs that looked home-burned. I held them up.

"Peer-to-peer sharing websites saved my life."

I burst out laughing. "How is that exactly?"

"Well you can find _anything_ on peer-to-peer sites. Anything a young boy might be curious about."

"And what was this boy curious about?"

"Everything."

"Elaborate."

"I was curious about everything. I'm sure there's at least one of every type of porn on those discs."

"What was your favorite?"

"Well, I liked sex." He laughed.

"Yes," I said, drawing out the whole word. "But what kind?"

He took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, I had a thing for spanking for a while. That was a solid few months. Face-sitting interested me…"

"You certainly watched enough to get reaaaally good at it."

He laughed. "I took good notes."

"What else?"

"I dunno, I mean sometimes I liked rough sex, sometimes I watched anal. Cumshots are always a safe bet. Those can always get you off. Blowjobs were kinda the same thing. Creampies…"

"Creampies, huh?"

"Well, yeah. How is that not the most amazing thing ever?"

"So this is a thing from way back, huh?"

"Of course."

"Tyler?"

"What?"

"Is this a kink?"

He thought a second. "Well, yeah."

I snorted at how matter-of-fact he just decided it was.

"I mean, how could it not be? With you it's like it's not even a kink, it's like a necessity."

I wasn't exactly sure how that statement could be romantic from anyone else, but I found it so. I leaned over and kissed him. "Show me. Pick some of them for us to watch."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

He was grinning at me, trying to figure out if I _was_ really serious about it. I nodded again. "C'mon already."

He moved over to the DVD player and started loading a disc immediately. I had to say, watching porn on his flat screen was gonna be pretty sweet. The second it was in, he basically ran to the door and locked it. I had to chuckle at him.

"Well! I mean, I can't just let my mom walk in when we're watching porn. And we're gonna have to mute it."

"Mute it? Sometimes the sounds are the best part; we're obviously going to just have to turn it way down. There can be no muting."

He considered that a second. "Yeah, ok."

I laughed some more and sort of launched myself into his bed. He had _nice_ shit in here. Why did he not take this nice shit with him? I rolled over, looking up at him. "How come you took some of your stuff but not this awesomely comfortable bed and that sweet flat screen?"

He sat down on the bed next to where my head was laying and shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I wanted to sort of break away from it."

"It's nice shit, Tyler."

"I know it is. It's also not technically mine. I mean, I didn't pay for any of it."

"But I'm sure your mom wouldn't have told you that you couldn't take it."

"No, I'm sure she'd tell me to take it. I dunno. Pride maybe? Rebellion? Who the fuck knows."

Decent enough explanation. And it made sense, especially if at the time he had any association with his father buying it. Which in a way was kinda funny because his dad still paid for all sorts of shit…

"Why are we not naked?" I asked, and looked over at the screen. "And where's the porn?"

"You're pretty demanding."

"Thought I was amazing."

"Think you can be both."

"Then fucking get undressed and start the porn."

Which is how we wound up lying in Tyler's teenage bed, naked with him scrolling through porn videos to find ones to watch.

"Sometimes the longer ones suck."

I laughed. "Is that right?"

"Well, I mean, sometimes you just wanna watch people get off. There doesn't need to be a whole 15 minutes of pretense and build up. And the ones that have _stories_ are just usually the most random and annoyingly boring things anyway."

"You seem to be very thoughtful about your porn."

"The Philosophy of Porn, by Tyler Hawkins." He paused. "But seriously, the lame stories just make it unappealing."

"So you're telling me you're only into hardcore porn?"

He shrugged. "I guess. If that's what it means when stories are eliminated, sure."

I pressed a kiss to his chest. "I'm just messin' with ya. Hardcore is better than long, drawn out stories. I totally agree."

"Just another reason to love you."

"Are you gonna just keep scrolling through shit or are you gonna pick something?"

"Well I'm looking for appropriate ones."

"Just fucking pick something. You're naked and I'm getting horny."

"Noted." He pressed play and our world was basically carried away with the low sounds of fake sex. The soft glow from the TV lit up the darkness in the room enough that I could still see him perfectly clearly.

I don't honestly know if he was actually picking things that he remembered at all or if he was just plucking random things and seeing what happened. The first few were sort of…mechanical was the only word I could think of. A vast majority of porn was just really bad, and while these weren't horrible, they weren't really much of a turn-on, either. I was about to tease him when he picked a decent one, and maybe it was more to do with the people in them than it was the actual stuff happening on screen. Porn stars that tried to oversell or talked way too fucking much were never appealing, but the ones that kind of just let the act speak for itself, and no one dubbed cheesy, "sexy" music over it were the ones that were interesting.

I don't remember which one of us even started it. It was probably a joint effort. If I could notice his breathing change, he certainly could tell mine had, too. And touching him became almost—like I was preoccupied with what was happening on the screen, but I could feel him, sense him— like knowing he was there more than seeing him, touching him but still watching the screen, not absently, but strangely more noticeably, more focused—if doing it while distracted could even be described that way. But it almost felt like everything else in the room was completely outside of me besides him, or it made the sensitivity that much higher.

And it also struck me how just like with sex, porn before had been something that just _was_. There was nothing attached to it. Some of it got me off because people were getting off on screen, but it was purely physical. With Tyler naked next to me, the entire energy was different because we were doing it together, and because I knew we were sharing something, it was on a completely different level. It wasn't just about getting off, or the physical side of it. It was about experiencing it with him. It was about touching him when there was a sound I could tell turned him on. It was about licking his jaw and forgetting the people were even on the screen.

I don't even know how long we were messing around with the porn on like background noise. Long enough that I kept him on edge and kept backing off, and because he was a sharing kind of guy, he did the same to me, getting me just _thisclose_ and then making me start all over. When we stopped, a new one had already started, and it was kinda cheesy, kinda artsy, but it was more "real" than others in the grand scope. Sometimes you can just tell one's going to be hotter, or more intense. Even if it included some stupid massage dude rubbing her down to start, it was on the fast track to goodness soon enough. We basically covered massages ourselves in a manner of speaking, so I was interested to see where it would go next. It held my interest enough that I was just lazily touching him, waiting for them to really start something more than foreplay. Maybe it was that I knew we were basically past foreplay and just waiting to start something ourselves, too.

It was pretty standard with some oral before they started fucking. He was standing to fuck her; she was on the stupid massage table, but it was decent, not overkill. But if they were just going to continue this, it was gonna get boring. So I was gonna start messing with Tyler again when the scene changed and they cut away to a different position. It was an abrupt transition, but it didn't matter—the chick was on her stomach and the guy was over her, her legs straight between his while his were bent to get leverage. We'd done this before, but it just looked incredibly sexy and intimate on the screen; he could touch her tits, she was holding onto his hair and his neck, his forehead was resting against the back of her head, she turned to kiss him, he linked their hands together while he kept pushing in her and—"Fuck me like that." It was the first time either of us had said anything since we started watching, and the first time I actually turned to look at him.

He met my eyes, the look there like he was just as ready as I was, but that was pretty much it; nothing else was said, and I was on my stomach faster than I even thought I'd be.

It wasn't like we had to work up to this; we'd both been ready for basically the entire time we were watching. I stayed propped on my elbows, and even with his first push inside, I was nearly gone. I was so wet, and the push so effortless, yet still intense and strong. His hips started moving immediately, his lips mouthing over my shoulder, my neck, tracing my ear. The angles—Jesus Fucking Christ, the angles—were amazing. It almost felt like it did when we were spooning, but with so much more power behind it, way more thrusting. I had to crane backwards to kiss him, and it created a delicious sense of tension everywhere. I experimented with which way felt the best, and decided it felt way better if I was arching myself up and back instead of staying with my tits just pressed into the bed. If I lifted my legs up a little, he'd get so far inside me.

He linked our hands together just like the guy on the video had, and honestly, I think that's what sent me over. Pent up tension and teasing for hours, but usually something small and comfortable, familiar, that made the tension break. He wasn't far after me, keeping our hands locked together until we were both completely done.

He pulled out slowly and then kinda half-rolled/half-fell onto the bed next to me, his breathing still fast and erratic. I stayed on my stomach, smirking at him, and looked over at the screen. The couple was actually still finishing, but I hadn't noticed any of it while he was fucking me. Their releases looked not nearly as intimate as mine felt. I turned back to look at him, and his eyes were closed, but he had a smile on his face.

"What are you so fucking happy about?" I teased; my tone quiet and just as sated and happy as he was.

His eyes opened slowly, and they looked really bright, even in the dimness of the room. "Thank you."

I chuckled. "You don't ever have to thank me. In case you didn't notice, I love fucking you."

"Not for that."

"For what then?"

"For coming tonight."

Oh. I leaned down, resting half of my body on his, and kissed him softly. "Of course."

"You liked that one, huh?"

"Tyler," I said in my patient voice, "pretty much all of them I was just imagining you fucking me all those ways."

"I'll fuck you any way you want, girl."

"Good, 'cause it's early and I'm nearly ready to fuck that flat screen it's such a thing of beauty. Did I ever tell you what my plan was after NOLA?"

"I don't think so. Before you got to Vegas you mean?"

"Vegas was just supposed to be a stop on my way to LA."

"What was in LA?"

"Porn."

"You were going to LA to do porn?"

"Yeah, that was my original grand plan. That I'd work my way there and then get into the porn industry."

"Why didn't you?"

"Vegas. And I left with Jordan and came here, so that plan just sort of didn't happen, and I don't think if I had stayed in Vegas it ever would have anyway. I think I would have just been stuck there forever."

"I'd happily shoot porn with you. I totally have an ancient camcorder that we could use. If you want to, ya know, try out the industry with me."

I dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be? What else could be sexier? I mean, watching us have sex? My mind, it would be blown. And lots of other stuff would be blown, too."

I kissed him impulsively. Hard. Like I was afraid I might have dislodged a tooth I mashed our mouths together so roughly. "I really fucking love you. You know that right?"

"Well, I am a fuck god. What else do fuck gods do but make porn videos with their girlfriends? I've also just decided—well, not _just _decided, but more reaffirmed—that you are the perfect girlfriend. You're amazing and beautiful, good in a crisis, can cook like a chef, are sexy as hell and incredible in bed; you make a mean cocktail and you totally just watched porn with your boyfriend. There is really nothing else a guy could ask for, you realize this, right? You've outdone yourself."

I smirked, raising a shoulder. "Well, I mean, what can I say?"

"Oh, and my mom loves you. And my sister. So it's kinda sold. End of story."

"Was that the last test?"

"Yes, I orchestrated this entire ordeal just so you'd come over and seal the deal. I love drama."

"Sounds just like you," I teased, kissing him again.

"My mom was kinda surprised, ya know…"

"Surprised? About what? That I cooked?"

"No. Us."

"What about us?"

"I think it might have been the 'I love you.'"

"Yeah, I kinda wondered what she'd think about that." He didn't say anything else right away. "What did she say?"

"Well, I mean, she loves you. She said you remind her of herself, which I thought was funny—but she meant that you were very empathetic and just took the initiative to make dinner and everything. She told me that she's never seen me be that serious about something other than Caroline and it was obviously important to me. She said we seem very happy. And as she's never told me I seem happy before, I'm taking that to mean you're pretty much golden now. So not only have I been replaced as the awesome brother, now my mom loves you more."

"You don't seem very upset about that."

"Well, did you miss my speech about you being the best girlfriend ever? Because I really can't compete, and I'm ok with that. Nobody else is a fuck god, so I've got that going for me. We won't be sharing that part with my mother."

I laughed. "Your secret is safe with me."

We _were _happy. It felt kind of odd to be this happy with him given what Caroline had going on, but maybe our happiness was part of the reason why she seemed to be getting better tonight. His mom certainly seemed better and less distraught knowing that he was happy with me. Maybe happiness could be infectious. And I'd never really been truly happy before, so all the oddness in the world couldn't make me feel guilty about that. I was still half-draped over him, and pressed a kiss to his chest. "Hey."

He ran a hand over my hair. "Hey, baby."

"Make love to me?"

He sort of cocked his head to the side, eyeing me up and had this lazy-content smile on his face. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

I suppose that was kind of odd to ask for after watching porn, but it also seemed kind of perfect in some way. Because that was just another side of us, just another part of who we were in a very long list. I loved that about us; we were never just one thing. And we could change it on a dime. We could be whoever we wanted to be with each other with complete understanding and no judgment. That was the most amazing thing.

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	49. Chapter 49

**Thanks to everyone that continues to review!**

**I should also mention that since I started updating on a more regular basis, these have all been un-beta-ed.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

* * *

**TPOV **

There was something about her actually _saying _it… _Asking _me for it. I thought it wouldn't get any better than her telling me she loved me. Turns out there were four other words that were just as powerful: '_Make love to me?' _

It was kind of a big deal—in more than one way. Because there was so much behind it.

Her asking me to make love to her was encompassed under this canopy of what I could only think to call self-awareness. Not to mention that she did it in a place not even familiar to her. We weren't in my apartment. She wasn't under the safety net of someplace she was acquainted with…which meant that the venue didn't even matter anymore. She didn't need the safety net.

I couldn't even remember the last time I slept without her.

She made all of these huge strides whether she realized them or not. She made the conscious decision to get a different job, and she became this uber-amazingly-more person. What the fuck was _I _doing?

I knew that I was the first real, mature relationship she had. And I was employed and stayed that way; I didn't bounce from job to job and I lived in the same place for years. But as much as I thought of myself as an adult, could I even really call myself that? I spent all of what should have been my entire college career squirreling away actual academia because it was easier not to do it. The job I had was an exercise in futility; I just liked the books; it wasn't as though that was going to be a career. I had no goals for the future. I still floated—that hadn't changed. Yes, I knew on some level I provided the stability that allowed Allison to get to where she was. But being a floater wouldn't be enough to keep her there. And even if it was, I wanted to give her more than that. I wanted to be stable in all the other ways that counted later.

I'd been thinking about the school thing for a long time. I'm sure on a lot of levels, I thought about it all along, but she made me serious about it.

~ooOoo~

In what I thought was the most inappropriate time, on his obligatory stop to check in on Caroline in the midst of her crisis, my father had decided that was the perfect time to tell me we needed to discuss some medical bills he received. I could guess they followed each other rather quickly, one being a certain ER visit and the other being a nicely titled Planned Parenthood bill. I suppose together they didn't look so good—not as though either should have shocked him. He asked that I make a stop at his office this morning, and per usual, I was basically dreading it entirely. Our last _discussion_ had resulted in people separating us before punches were thrown, so it wasn't high on my list of fun things to do. Especially not when it meant sending Allison home without me.

I still got there on time. Because I honored commitments. If all of his missed events taught me anything, it was the value of being on time.

Naturally, he wasn't. I was outside of the building already when my phone rang.

_King Midas – Incoming Call_

I was my normal, charming self. "Are you running late or cancelling altogether?"

He sounded normal; largely emotionless. "Are you already on your way?"

_On my way?! How did he actually run this business? _"I'm already here."

There was this short, weighted pause. He knew by my tone I was pissed off. "I'm taking Caroline to school."

It took a second for that to click. And I honestly didn't even know what to say at first. "Uh, ok." I paused shortly, but I was smiling to myself. It was probably nothing, but…could it be that our conversation actually made a difference? "I'll wait in your office."

"It might be a while."

"That's ok. It's fine." He hung up without a goodbye, and I stared at the phone for a minute. Not at all what I expected.

I kinda couldn't stop smiling in the elevator. I suppose I was setting myself up for disappointment, but I'd done that most of my life. I didn't really care for myself anymore. I just wanted Caroline to have a decent father.

You'd think elevators for important financial people doing whatever the fuck it is they do would be faster to the millionth floor, but they were surprisingly slow. It gave me way too much time to think. By the time I got out of the elevator, I was kind of edgy. Jumpy. I passed the receptionist with my usual sarcasm that she never appreciated the way she should have, and rolled past the HAWKINS STEVENS JACOB emblazoned on the wall. As a kid, I loved that my name was on a wall like that. All huge letters and gleaming silver in the light. As I got older I realized that it meant nothing, and was sort of just an extra fuck you that I shared the name and it was tacked on that wall like a brand.

His office was meant to be impressive. I had a vague recollection of playing at a desk like this; a monstrous, oak structure that seemed to take up the entire room. At the time I probably pretended to be like him—important, yelling into phones, making deals—whatever a child would perceive that to be like. I sat down in the chair behind it because it was sort of a golden opportunity to look out at life from Charles Hawkins' viewpoint. It felt odd to sit behind the desk now. Like an ocean of memories and faults divided us. It was a silly child's game to sit behind a father's desk and play 'work.' It felt just as silly now to sit there and try to fill his shoes. A nauseating kind of amusement. I wondered if that's what Michael felt working here.

His desk was actually rather sparse. Phone, computer, lamp, a few portfolios.

Curiosity got the better of me, I suppose.

The mouse was just sitting right there. Who knew what evil lurked behind the blackness of the sleeping monitor?

The screensaver… I can't explain my emotions. A muddled mix of confusion, rage, puzzlement, uncertainty, misunderstanding, chaos, upheaval, understanding, love…

A continuous loop of my father and all of us as babies, little Michael with a little me, my Mom with Michael and a tiny Caroline, Caroline as a toddler, Michael as a teenager, me at soccer practice, Michael and me, Caroline and me, Michael, Mom, Caroline, Me, Caroline, Michael, Me, Me, Me…

"Good morning, Mr. Hawkins."

Janine. Perhaps the one person in my father's life that was always a constant. She worked for him for longer than I could remember. A devoted employee. She obviously saw something that most of the rest of us didn't. She pulled me out of my disordered emotional uncertainty.

"Did you know about these?" I asked her quietly.

"Who do you think scanned them in?"

I admired Janine's straightforwardness. She never minced words and she always seemed to genuinely care. Not just about my father, but about me, too.

A picture of Michael with a guitar flashed, followed by one of him running around in Central Park. "How old would he be?"

"Would have been 28 in May. May 20th."

"I'm sorry. I should remember that."

Like she had anything to apologize for. I felt like I should apologize. I needed to get out of here. Or at least out of this chair—this chair of disorientating feeling. Like an inanimate object could ever be blamed for so much turmoil. Better the chair I suppose…

I got up, touching her elbow as I moved past her, a silent apology of sorts. She didn't push. I walked to the window wishing that they could open and bring in some fresh air. The air in here seemed stagnant and unforgiving. I sort of felt like I'd been turned upside down. Like the world was skewed from where it sat when I came in this office with all of my self-satisfying anger and resentment.

I wasn't completely wrong. He was an absent father. He didn't show up when he was supposed to. But my perception of his feelings was way off. Most of the time I think I negated he even had any.

I'm not sure how long I really waited, just staring out the window and thinking. Janine had left—starting work no doubt. When he came in, I don't think he knew how to approach me, not sure of my mood or my reaction to him being late.

"How did dropping Caroline off go?"

His face registered shock that I even asked. It took him a second to answer. When he did, he was smiling sadly. "She didn't talk to me at all. Didn't look at me either. It was a very silent ride. I suppose I should be used to that."

"You have a lot to make up for." I really said it completely matter-of-factly. There was no hidden animosity there.

He didn't seem to take it that way exactly, the boxing gloves back up. His face registered the change, but it was too late for me to take it back, and I didn't really want to. We just didn't communicate well anymore. Maybe we never had.

He got down to business. "So I wanted to talk to you about a few medical bills that were passed on to me. They're paid," he said shortly, waving his hand as though I had a question about that, or like that's what we were really here for—he didn't give a shit about the money. "I just wanted to… They're sort of concerning."

"I busted my hand and went to the ER. That was the first one." I figured there was no reason to lie. It wasn't like my history of violent outbursts was news to him.

"And how did you bust your hand?"

I remembered the picture of the stacked pyramid of me on the top, Michael in the middle and my father on the bottom at the beach and actively tried not to snap at him. "I hit a guy that attacked my girlfriend."

He hadn't actually been looking at me, but his head jerked up at that. "You have a girlfriend?"

I smirked, blinking slowly. "Yes. Shocking, I know."

"What's her name?"

"Her name is Allison."

"How long… Have you been dating long?"

"Over six months."

The wince was noticeable only to someone like me, I suppose. Because over the years I'd worked hard at perfecting ways of making him do that. It really hadn't been my intention this time. It was just another one of those facts.

"That's a long time." He said quietly.

I didn't owe him an apology for keeping that information from him. Up until twenty minutes ago I was convinced he was an unforgivable asshole. "It is."

"The Planned Parenthood bill…" he drifted for a second, "That's not… She's not…"

I shook my head. "No."

He seemed visibly relieved. And I had a hilarious image of him launching into the birds-and-the-bees talk. Not that he ever did that. It was just a hilarious thought.

I tried again not to snap completely when his phone rang. He looked at the display and glanced at me. "I have to take this."

I sighed, getting up. Same old, same old. I really shouldn't have let my emotions take over. This is what always happened. Glimmer of hope before the rug was yanked out from under you a few minutes later. It would never change.

"Don't leave, Tyler. Just give me a few minutes."

I nodded, already tired of this morning, and walked to his office door. I walked out and left the door ajar enough that I could hear what was so important he had to stop our conversation.

I actually found myself sitting against the wall before I really knew it. Because again, it was not what I expected. Instead of a sales call, or some annoying bullshit about futures and securities, he was basically yelling at someone from Caroline's school. I couldn't make out everything, but it was evident that it had nothing whatsoever to do with his business.

When he finished, he pushed the door open and looked mildly hurt again before he saw me sitting on the floor. "Oh," he said quietly, a small smile on his face that I was still there.

"What was that?"

He nodded for me to come back in the office. "I called the school and unleashed a shit-storm of epic proportions on the Board of Trustees that will not abate until those girls seek enrollment elsewhere." He paused for a second, happy with himself that I seemed completely floored by what he was telling me. "I give them a week."

This whole speechless thing was becoming far too common today.

"Tyler, I know you think I'm a prick, but I have my uses."

I nodded. "Yeah, I think you're a prick most of the time but I'm really happy that you're trying with Caroline."

"You were right. What you said. She needs to know that she's important to me."

"That's all she needs."

"You're important to me, too, Tyler."

I nodded, looking down. I really don't think I could deal with that today. It was too much. And there was still that part of me that wanted to protect itself in case that didn't happen. As long as he didn't let Caroline down anymore, it was ok.

"We were getting tested at the clinic. Just routine but we both thought it was a good idea." I didn't feel the need to share the real reason we'd gone there, although he could probably figure it out if he wanted to connect dots.

I think he was going to say something else, but I just kinda barreled ahead. "I love her. We're going to move in together." I hadn't _actually_ gotten around to asking her that, but I wanted him to know I was serious. "And I want to go back to school. For real this time. Not auditing. For actual credit with grades because I can't just work at The Strand forever."

I never actually verbally asked my father for money. It was always just assumed, or provided without anything actually being said. I had no idea if he would have cut me off eventually if I decided to do nothing with my life, but I hope he understood exactly what it took for me ask. "I'm asking for your help—with school and rent until I finish."

His elbow was on the desk, his fingers covering his mouth while he listened to me. I couldn't read his expression. I wouldn't ask again. It was hard enough to do once. If he knew me at all, he should know what this meant that I was asking. What I was giving him. The opportunity here was sort of staggering if I thought about it too much. Basically our entire relationship hung on how he was going to deal with this. I never _needed _him before. Or I convinced myself that I didn't.

"You're really serious about this? About school?"

"Yes."

"And this girl—Allison?"

"Even more so."

He nodded a few times, thinking, appraising, I suppose. "I'd like to meet her."

I wondered which one of us had given up first. I couldn't even remember. I just remember anger and disappointment and a raging sense of blame. It's not like things had been great before Michael died. Somewhere along the line resentment became all I could see when I looked at him. Looking at him now, all I could see were the images he had Janine scan. My formative years, the ones where I actually needed a role model—those were gone. I was an adult now, yes. I was also still a child. I was his child. And for the first time in a nearly a decade, I think I was ok with that.

"We could have dinner."

He smiled. "I'd like that, Tyler."

"When are you available?"

"How about tomorrow night? Would that work?"

"I think so, yeah. I don't think Allison works tomorrow, but if something changes, I'll call you."

"Great. I'm looking forward to meeting her."

I nodded and started to walk out.

"Tyler?"

"Yeah?" I was at the door, and halfway out of it already.

"You know the answer is always 'yes,' right?" He said it to my back; I hadn't turned around.

I let out a deep breath. I'm not sure why. I really didn't have any question about what his answer was. They were mostly unspoken, assumed. And when he didn't pitch a fit or question my motives, I figured as much. It was still really awesome to hear him say it. I looked back at him, nodding. "Yeah, Dad. I know."

I didn't stick around for a response. I hadn't called him _Dad_ in… I don't even know how long. Or if I had, it was a completely sarcastic, irritated way.

Janine was in the hallway, coming towards his office. She was smiling at me and put her hand on my arm as we passed each other. "You know that just made his year, don't you?" She must have heard me.

I had a soft spot for Janine, but I think that was completely mutual. I shared in her smiling and ducked my head slightly. "Gotta throw the old man a bone once every ten years or so, right?"

Figuratively speaking, it was quite a fucking bone. I made the first move. It was his play now. Screw it up, and there wasn't any going back. So I hoped that was clear, too.

"He won't take it for granted, Tyler." Maybe instead of seeing things we didn't, Janine was the only one that saw him clearly. Or saw through all the bullshit.

"I hope not."

~ooOoo~

I wasn't sure exactly how I felt on the way home. I wanted to be upbeat. I wanted to believe he'd show and that dinner would actually happen, much less go well. Still, protecting myself was probably wise. Just in case.

I was kinda tired by the time I got to the apartment. The last few days had sort of been an emotional roller coaster. And there was a huge trek up all those fucking stairs. We needed an elevator. Or a first level apartment. I suppose I probably shouldn't have said anything to my father about Allison and me moving in together. Because I hadn't even fucking said anything to her yet. Fucking hell, what if he said something at dinner? I stopped walking up the stairs and actually had to hang onto the railing. It wasn't like I could call him back and tell him that part wasn't true, or that I hadn't asked her yet. I didn't want him to think it wasn't a done deal. That was a huge part of my seriousness about this relationship—that we were ready to make this big step. But it was sort of imperative he didn't say anything or else I was going to have to have this conversation with her now.

I didn't even know if she wanted that. We hadn't talked about it at all. What if she thought I was planning shit out and not including her in it? Like I was just turning into my father and doing shit without consulting anyone because I could, and he had the money to allow me to do that. I should call him. I should call him back and tell him that I hadn't asked her yet. Be honest. What would they both think if he said something and she didn't know? What the fuck was I even talking about? I hadn't given a shit at all about him until an hour ago. What did I care what he thought?

Hyperventilation was totally possible just from panic, right? Because I think the cold sweat was starting.

_Hey, so I told my dad we were totally moving in together to our own place to prove how serious I was about us. Wanna check out apartments online with me? _I didn't want me asking her to be a product of this. I didn't want to ask just because my father might say something. What if she wasn't ready? I mean, this should be something we talk about. Something we decide together. It didn't matter how long I'd been thinking about it. It was just like the 'I love you' thing. It had to be at a time when she was ready for it.

Jesus Christ. This dinner was going to be a total disaster. I set this up for complete failure. It was all gonna be over the second he said something about it. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe she wouldn't notice. God, I was losing my mind. Like she wouldn't notice? I was fucked.

"Hey."

I jumped, literally, and looked to the left to the source of the greeting which was, of course, Allison. She was sitting next to me on the step. I didn't even remember sitting down. Shit.

"You ok?"

I nodded, willing myself to actually form words. I could feel my heart racing. I wondered if she could hear it.

She patted my knee before giving it a squeeze. "C'mon." She stood, and put her hand out. Blessedly, she didn't seem to need me to talk.

So I took her hand and got up because it was easier than sitting here and passing out from panic. She shoved me to the couch and went off to the kitchen. She had a bag with her, so she must have ran to the store.

It was too warm in this room. Or it could have just been that everywhere felt like there was no air at the moment. She wasn't gone long, and when she came back, she was handing me something before she plopped down next to me.

It was a beer mug. But it had too much foam and froth on the top of it to be just beer. I turned my head to look at her, questioning wordlessly.

"It's a beer float."

"A beer float?"

"Yes. Beer and ice cream. Just thought maybe you might need it when you got home. Stronger than root beer, all the awesomeness of ice cream. Try it. I think you'll like it."

I blinked at her for a second and then looked back at the mug. And then brought the mug to my lips, drinking down the best fucking beer foam I ever tasted before getting to the actual beer. I couldn't even describe the greatness that was this drink. I sort of drank the entire beer in several large gulps. And she produced a spoon like magic for me to eat the ice cream after. I loved her so fucking much.

"You want another one?"

I nodded, even though it was incredibly filling. I felt better. Just being with her made me feel better. She went out to buy beer and ice cream to make me beer floats just because she thought I might need them after a meeting with my father. And she never forced me to talk about something she knew might be difficult.

She handed me another one and I basically downed that just the same, letting out an impressive belch after which only made her chuckle at me. "You want something to eat, too?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

She grabbed the mug and set it on the table, curling herself closer to me, but still far enough away that she could see my face. "Dare I ask how it went?"

"Surprisingly positive," I said before really thinking.

She beamed at me. "That's great!"

"Yeah, after I told him that I booked it to Planned Parenthood to get checked out for STDs so we could fuck bareback, he was all for it. He wants to have dinner."

The look on her face was priceless. My delivery was flawless. "You want me to get you a float?" I asked, teasing.

"Dick." She shook her head at me. "If it went well, why the stairs?" She nodded off in the stairway direction.

Well, shit. I'd have to creatively evade some of the truth. I sighed, the tiredness seeping in again. "I think I've just spent so long expecting the worst, and setting up for the worst that when it goes well, I'm afraid it won't stay that way. Or my expectations are set to high that he can't possibly deliver. And then I'll be crushed all over again, and protecting myself makes me even angrier the next time."

"That makes total sense."

I let my head fall to the back of the couch, my eyes slipping closed. "I don't want to be angry anymore."

She kissed my cheek. "Letting go of anger is a really good thing."

I turned my head towards her, opening my eyes slowly. And let out a huge breath I'd probably been holding since the stairs. Her cheek was pillowed on her hand, her face close to mine. She had a soft smile lingering there and her hand came up to rest on my cheek, her thumb tracing over my lips gently. It was amazing how much calm she could exude like it just oozed out of her pores. And at least for right now, I kinda didn't care about dinner. It would have to take care of itself and I could deal with whatever came from it if it actually did.

I nudged myself closer to her, nuzzling into her nose and she closed the rest of the gap, kissing me gently. "I'm glad it went ok."

We didn't really move at all when we parted. "Me, too. Thanks for the float, too. That was incredibly thoughtful."

She shrugged. "You must be rubbing off."

I smiled, but was quiet for a while. I loved that she didn't pull away, and didn't prod for me to tell her anything, just giving me the time I needed if I wanted to. And I think she would have just sat there with me not saying anything just the same.

"I think I was wrong about my dad," I said quietly.

"What made today different?"

I loved two things about her response: She told me she agreed without actually saying it and she didn't make me feel like shit about being wrong, either. "I dunno. Maybe I was less angry to start. He took Caroline to school, so he was late for our meeting. And then he took a call from the school and chewed them a new asshole. It was nice to see him give a shit."

"You think he's always given a shit?"

"He has all these pictures on his computer. Like a slideshow as the screensaver. All pictures of us—of my mom and Michael and Caroline and me. I dunno how long they've even been there. I think I was wrong about a lot of things."

"Well he was still absent. He wasn't a great communicator about anything."

Again, I loved two things about her response: She wanted me to remember I wasn't the only one to blame, and she didn't want me to forget that he still had faults. "Yeah. Honestly, it'd be nice not to fight with him all the time, but as long as he's a decent father for Caroline, I don't really care about myself."

"That's bullshit."

I smiled. "Well."

"You'll live with him being a good father for Caroline if that's all he's capable of. You'd be really happy if was a good father to you, too."

I sighed again, but it was a much happier, satisfied one. No one knew me better than she did. "How'd you come up with a beer float?"

"I was looking up drinks online. New ideas for the club and shit, stumbled upon it. I thought it was genius."

"It is. It's really good."

"So we're having dinner with your dad tomorrow?"

"Yeah, as long as you're ok with that. You don't have to work, right?"

"Nope, I'm off tomorrow."

"Are you ok with that?"

"Yeah, I'd like to meet your dad, I think."

"We'll see what you have to say after you meet him."

"What if I really like him?"

"Well then I'll obviously break up with you immediately."

She laughed. "I thought you weren't going to give him that much power anymore."

"I'm not. But you're still not allowed to like him."

"I see."

"He can be very charming."

"Well the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I like him already."

"Just so you don't like him more than me."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about there. He's a little old for me."

"Well he's got a lot of money. That could be very attractive."

"Well you're his kid, so…you'll inherit it anyway."

I laughed loudly. "Is that the plan?"

"I figured I might as well come clean. I can only lie for so long."

"He's not all charming," I added. "He can be a real prick."

"Well the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," she was smiling as she said it to me. Pretty sure she was baiting me.

Eh, I'd let her have that one. "Your beer float made me sleepy. Bet that was your plan all along. Placate any apparent anger out of me until I just want to nap after all that beer and ice cream. You're good."

"You're so perceptive. It's one of your finer qualities. Did you get that from your dad, too?"

"Um, no. Probably my mother."

"Well, see—then you got the best of both."

"I'm totally gonna nap now. Are you gonna nap with me?"

"Where are you napping?"

"Duh, right here. I'm not moving after all that foam."

She twisted her mouth deciding for all of a few seconds. She shrugged. "Ok."

I nodded and started to lie down, but stopped and nearly bumped heads with her. "I'm not making out with you, either. Just so we're clear. If not from the uncomfortable fullness of beer and ice cream, for that crack about me being a prick. I won't take that kind of abuse." Guess I couldn't let her have it.

"It's ok. I don't want to make out with you anyway."

I started again, but stopped abruptly, looking back at her. "Oh really?"

"Nope. Too busy thinking about all of my opportunities now. You, your dad..."

"Oh my God, stop. I might puke."

"Well…I'd draw the line at puke with anyone else, but I might make an exception for you. I guess I'll just have to wait and see. I can play both sides of the field. Keep my options open. Watch for any other charming pricks out there."

I groaned already, my stomach not very happy with the diet of beer and ice cream for breakfast and the groan only got worse when she wormed herself on top of me a tad bit rougher than was necessary. "That's really gross. I mean, my father aside, positive puke in a relationship makes you weirder than me for once. I dunno why I keep you," I said through a deep breath out, more comfortable now that I was lying down and she was putting just the right amount of pressure on my stomach. I locked my hands over the small of her back and let out a sigh as one of her hands tangled in my hair, the other resting on my shoulder.

I dunno why I started talking. Maybe it was just tired blathering. Or that she made me feel content even if I was nervous. Maybe that was half of my stomach issue. Maybe I was nervous unconsciously. "Janine—she's my dad's…well she's sort of more than a secretary. She's sort of, like, his office manager and keeps his appointments and all that crap. I dunno, she's more of an assistant the amount of shit she does for him. Anyway, I've always liked her. When I was walking out I told her that if he blows this one, I'm done."

"Did you mean it?" I loved that she didn't move at all to talk to me—just stayed right where she was. I realized we were talking really quietly, near whisper volume.

"I think so, yeah." I paused. "I hope she told him."

"If she's that close to him, I'm sure she did."

"Yeah."

"Stop thinking about it now and just go to sleep. I really don't think he'll fuck it up, Tyler."

I squeezed her tightly, turning my head to press a kiss to the top of her hair. "I love you."

She yawned. "Love you, too."

~ooOoo~

I woke up to the sound of my name. "Yeah?"

Allison was standing over me, which was already a bad way to wake up. How she got off of me without me waking up was a mystery.

"I answered your phone. It's that Janine lady you were telling me about. She wants to know where we want to go for dinner. Does your dad always have people call for him?"

"Yes."

She held out the phone to me. "You're right. She sounds really nice."

"I like her." I grabbed the phone. "Can I call you back?"

"Bring her by the office sometime. I'd like to meet her."

"Yeah, we'll tackle dinner first, ok?"

"If she's half as great as she sounds, I'm impressed."

"Thanks."

"That she puts up with you."

I laughed. "Me, too. I'll call you back in a little while." I dropped the phone to my chest and went back to dozing until the couch depressed next to me. I opened one eye. "Why are you not napping with me anymore?"

"You snore."

"I do not snore."

She leaned over, half resting against me. "You do sometimes. After you drink beer floats."

"Liar."

"I had to pee. And your phone was being annoying. You slept through it."

"I had a stressful morning."

"So where are we going for dinner?"

"Where would you like to go for dinner?" I paused for a second and then realized something. "He's actually really trying."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he usually just announces to me where we're going and asks how many are coming. He's never really cared to know who's coming along, either."

"So you never get a choice for dinner places?"

"Not really, no. He just books reservations somewhere expensive and impressive."

"So where are we going?"

"McDonald's."

She smiled. "Their dollar menu is very economical."

"Hey, he might spring for a combo meal. We can go all out. What kind of food do you want?"

"I don't really care. What do you think?"

"No, I want you to pick. Something you're comfortable with. This is why he's asking. He's telling me that we can pick wherever we want to be comfortable instead of someplace I have to wear a fucking tie."

"But you look good in ties."

"Then I'll wear one for you, but that's not really the point."

"You're going to wear a tie for me?" Her expression was ridiculously cute and excited.

"Yes, I'll wear a tie for you. Even though it won't necessarily be required."

"I dunno where to go. You guys are better with that stuff. I don't know anywhere really."

"Type of food. We'll figure out where after we decide what kind. If we were going out for dinner tonight alone, what would you want?"

"Sushi."

I can't say I was surprised. I let out a noise somewhere between laugh and sigh and breath because…just because. "Sushi it is."

"But you don't like sushi. Does your dad like sushi?"

"I dunno, really, but it doesn't matter. That's what you want. I'm sure they have other things."

"So where do we go for sushi? I doubt your dad wants to eat at the dive we usually order from."

I grabbed my phone and called Janine back.

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins?"

"Oh, Jesus, please don't ever call me that again."

She chuckled on the other end of the phone. "Has kind of a nice ring to it."

"Sushi is our choice."

"Sushi?"

"Yep. Know any good places?"

I could hear her shuffling the phone and typing on the keyboard. "Morimoto's comes up on the top of the list for sushi restaurants in New York. It's in the Meatpacking district. How would that sound?"

"Sounds good."

"Should he pick you up on the way?"

"Nah, we'll meet him there. How about eight?"

"I cleared his schedule, eight works."

"Great."

"Have a nice dinner, Tyler."

"Thanks, Janine." She was looking at me expectantly when I hung up. "We're going to Morimoto's."

"Where is that?"

I grinned. "The Meatpacking district."

She laughed. "Is your dad, like, going to be all right in that part of town?"

"He's actually from Brooklyn. I think he'll be fine."

"Your dad's from Brooklyn?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"He still gets his coffee from the same place he did when he lived there."

"What kind of place is this that we're going?"

"I have no idea. But apparently I'm wearing a tie."

"What am I wearing?"

"Clothes. Later we won't need clothes, but for dinner they're necessary."

"Dick."

"You can wear whatever you want."

"Well, like, do I need to dress up? If you're wearing a tie and shit, I should probably be dressed nicely."

"Skirts or dresses are easily accessible when you haul me into bathroom stalls. Just sayin."

She covered my face with her hand and pushed off of the couch. "I should wear pants just on principle alone now."

~ooOoo~

**APOV**

We were fifteen minutes early. And Tyler was _so_ fucking nervous—a level of nervous that I'd never seen from him. He was fidgety and his leg was shaking. I mean, I knew why. He wasn't ever nervous for things with Caroline because they came easier to him; they already had a good relationship. And he wasn't nervous to see his mom because they were close enough not to have there be any question or tension. Tyler's dad actually being there was a big enough 'if' to him that he was really, seriously nervous about this. Most people probably would have been more nervous about dad meeting his girlfriend, but I really don't think that was any part of this. I was comfortable, too. We were already a set. Charles was the wildcard here.

"Hey."

"What?" He said it almost distracted, like he was looking for his dad being late already, or preparing himself if something went wrong. He looked young, like a little boy; his whole demeanor was just screaming that despite the fact that he was standing here with me in a tie, holding my hand, and looked nothing like a child.

I touched his face with my other hand, and he focused on me. "Chill. It's just your dad."

"What if he doesn't show?"

"I think he'll show."

"But what if he doesn't?"

"Then we'll go home and order pizza, and I'll make you forget. Either way, we're going to have a good night, ok?"

He let out a huge breath that sounded more like a sigh that he'd been holding, and pulled me into a hug.

"It'll be ok, either way," I whispered into his ear.

"Shouldn't I be the one telling you that? I'm sorry."

"I'm strangely not nervous to meet your dad. I don't really know why."

He pulled back and kissed me quickly. "I love you."

"I love you."

Charles arrived a few minutes later, and the relief that just oozed out of Tyler was almost a completely physical thing. His face softened and brightened and even his posture changed. I was really grateful that he showed—if for nothing else, for Tyler's sake.

"Dad, this is Allison. Allison, this is my father, Charles Hawkins."

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking his hand.

"And you as well. I hope you weren't waiting long."

I squeezed Tyler's hand. "Not at all. We just got here."

Charles gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

The restaurant was completely spectacular. The front of the place was in a huge arc with these bright red curtains dangling, and when walking inside, one of the first things you saw was a huge wall made of glass bottles. The lighting was warm but still kinda edgy and cool. It seemed like a trendy place.

Tyler was right, too—Charles was very charming.

"Have you been here before?" I finally asked, as he seemed to be shaking everyone's hand as though he knew them.

"I haven't actually. I'm interested to see how the food is. I have a lot of clients that enjoy sushi, so if this places lives up to its reputation, I think I'll be visiting much more often."

"I didn't realize it was this close to the Pier. Tyler and I had one of our first dates there."

"Oh? What did you do?"

"We went ice skating. I'd never been before."

"To Chelsea Pier or you never ice skated?"

"Neither."

"Are you from this area?"

"Florida originally."

"Not much ice skating in Florida?"

"I wasn't there long enough to really find that out."

"Did you move around a lot?"

"My mom died when I was four, so I spent a lot of time bouncing around foster homes."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I imagine that must have been a rough start."

_You have no idea_. I nodded, smiling. "You could say that."

It was decided we were having drinks first. I'm pretty sure that might have been Tyler's suggestion. He ordered whiskey-neat, which I couldn't say I'd seen him drink before, but then we didn't really go to bars much, or he mostly stuck to beer. I thought it was amusing when his father ordered the same thing.

"What do you want?" Tyler asked me.

I suppose Diet Coke was not technically in the categories of 'drinks.' So I scanned the menu. Honestly, the name was horrible, but it sounded interesting. "I'll have a ginger daisy."

Tyler smirked, but he ordered it for me.

It was very poorly named. "This is not at all a 'daisy' drink. That makes it sound like it's some lightweight, froofy sh—crap. Anything with tequila in it shouldn't be a daisy."

Seeing them together, I thought Tyler looked more like his mom than he did his dad, but there were things that were recognizable. They didn't really carry themselves the same way; Charles had an air about him—the businessman, the professional. It was a confidence level that even outdid Tyler's. Tyler's confidence level was never that overstated. And Tyler still had insecurities. I'm sure Charles did, too, but he certainly didn't carry himself that way. Or maybe because Tyler had been so nervous, the differences in them were more noticeable. Or maybe because Tyler was his kid, he felt more insecure. It was kind of amusing how much it was obvious that they both wanted this to work, though.

"So what looks good, Allison?" Charles asked me.

There wasn't anything remotely reasonable price-wise on this menu. Ramen soup was $15. _Fifteen _dollars for a fucking packet of ramen! Logically I knew this was not the same thing you bought in a packet in the store, but _still_. Gourmet _ramen_?! Half of this shit, I'd never even heard of. "Um."

"Are you a sliced or rolled sushi connoisseur?"

"Definitely rolled."

"And what kind do you normally get?"

_Well, Charles, at the dive we usually order from, they have exactly five different options..._ "Usually salmon, tuna, California rolls, sometimes shrimp or yellowtail."

He nodded. "Then I think it's obvious we need to order the Omakase tasting dinner so that you can experience all that this restaurant has to offer."

In this respect, he was exactly like his son, or his son was exactly like him. He looked at me all expectantly and like if I said yes, it'd make him really happy.

"Um, ok?" I didn't really mean it to come out in a question, but I mean it was $125 fucking dollars a person. Charles also took the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine that was way over a hundred bucks. This place was insane.

"Tyler?"

"Hell, no. I'm having a steak. You and my dad can eat all the seaweed and shit that you want. I'll stick with the red meat."

"So, you like sushi, but obviously Tyler is not as much of a fan."

I smiled at Tyler, who looked almost adorably bashful. "It's definitely one of my favorites. Tyler's very nice about it, though."

"I eat a lot of tempura. Or there's leftover pizza."

~ooOoo~

_Toro Tartare in a Bamboo Box with Caviar and 6 Condiments, finished with a Japanese Berry_

"Did you take Caroline to school today?"

Charles' eyes flicked to me and back to Tyler. "Yeah, I did."

"How'd that go?"

He smiled sadly. "Still wouldn't talk to me. She's incredibly stubborn."

"Must get it from mom," Tyler said with a small smile.

Charles looked at me. "Caroline is Tyler's younger sister."

"She's met Caroline a bunch of times," Tyler said softly. I was impressed with how non-confrontational and non-resentful he sounded. Just fact.

"Oh."

"You have ideas?"

"For?"

"Engaging conversation."

"No, not in particular."

"Stick with art. She'll probably respond better."

It was really awesome of Tyler to even offer that, much less in the almost encouraging way he said it. I covered his shoe with mine and smiled at him when he looked over at me.

~ooOoo~

_Hamachi Carpaccio_

"You could try taking her to the Met," I suggested.

Charles looked at me, surprised.

I shrugged. "She really seemed to love it there. Tyler and I took her once. Art is totally her outlet for everything."

The surprise really didn't stop. I probably spent more time in the last six months with his daughter than he had. And I think he realized that suddenly.

"It's good she has that. Especially when other little girls are bitches."

Charles laughed, but it went away quickly. "So you know about that?"

I nodded. "She'll be ok. She's strong. And she'll use the art to work through the anger. Not everyone has that. I certainly didn't."

"Why were you angry?"

I debated for a minute how much to really tell him. "Fosters homes, no parents, no family. I think I spent my entire childhood angry. I was angry up until a few years ago. Not because I felt sorry for myself, really. I made a lot of bad choices—ones that were hard to get out of then. And it made me incredibly angry."

"How did you stop being angry?"

"You just have to let it go eventually. Accept what was. Move on. And moving here was the biggest step. Just getting away from everything where I was."

"Well, I'm glad you did."

"I am, too."

~ooOoo~

_Sashimi: A rainbow array of salmon, tuna, eel, hamachi, and seared toro garnished with sun-dried tomato and caviar and five sauce pipettes_

"You're really not going to try this?" I asked Tyler, holding out my fork.

"I'm really not, no. Enjoy." He said this will putting the largest bit of steak in his mouth that was possible.

"You might like it."

"I can tell you with 99% certainty, I will not."

"So goddamned stubborn."

I flicked my eyes to Charles, who seemed to be enjoying me giving Tyler a hard time. Tyler was smiling, so it wasn't like he was offended.

"He's always been stubborn," Charles offered.

"Excuse me?" Tyler asked. "Pot have you met kettle?"

Charles ignored him. "I took the boys to see a movie one time and he didn't want to see it, so he locked himself in the bathroom and refused to come out."

"It was a baby movie," Tyler provided, looking down at his steak.

"It was not a baby movie. It was a kid's movie. It was _Muppet Treasure Island. _You were a kid. Michael agreed to it."

"I was almost seven!"

"It was like a formal protest. Like a lock-out. Michael was almost thirteen and he went along with it."

"It was a baby movie." Tyler was actually really adorable with his insistence and the fact that he looked about seven when he kept insisting.

"Michael finally talked him out. He only missed about 20 minutes of the movie."

"So maybe I didn't really understand the whole bonding thing."

"He bonded over extra candy."

Tyler was looking at his dad, and I think his realization was actually really new—that he might not have figured out that his dad had actually been trying to bond with the boys—and that the movie itself didn't really matter.

"Well I'm just as stubborn, so we make an awesome pair."

~ooOoo~

_Sushi Selection: seared tuna, yellowtail, salmon, snapper, mackerel_

"You know you almost met once before," Tyler said suddenly.

"We did?" I asked, my face asking _What the fuck are you talking about?!_

Tyler nodded. "Yeah, the night we met. Or the morning after it really."

I was going to stomp on his foot. Hard.

"What do you mean?" Charles asked.

"Remember when your lawyer came to bail me out of jail?"

"Yes."

"We got arrested that night."

"What?"

"_We _got arrested?" I asked.

"Well…technically I got arrested and she got arrested after the cop that was taking me in was abusive and used unnecessary force."

Charles barked out a laugh. "You got arrested on the night you met?"

"He got me arrested."

"She got herself arrested jumping on a cop."

I shot him a look.

"We don't get arrested anymore," he said quickly.

"_We_ certainly don't."

~ooOoo~

_Seared Wagyu Beef with Sweet Potatoes Coupled with Lobster in a half-shell and spicy Indian curry_

"So were you in New York long before my son got you arrested? Did you move to New York after Florida?"

"She got herself arrested!" Tyler said, but we were sort of ignoring him.

"No, I was all over. Atlanta, New Orleans, Texas for a little while, Vegas…New Orleans for the longest. I've been in New York for almost three years. Two of those without arrest."

"I've been to New Orleans on business. It's a beautiful city. Great people. The culture there is amazing."

"I wasn't there pre-Katrina; I got there a couple years after, so the recovery was still going on. The city was one of my favorites—really cool people."

"What was your favorite part of the city?"

"I really miss the food. No one makes a beignet the same. No seafood here tastes as fresh, no matter where it comes from. And there were so many different types of food there. I didn't ride them really, but the streetcars were cool, but I loved that you could ride the ferries for free. Sometimes if I just wanted to get away I'd go and sit by the river or take the ferry all day long—just ride it all day back and forth. It was a great place to just forget about everything. The rides were really calming."

"I loved the cemeteries there. They were so much more ornate than anything else I'd seen. I never had a lot of time in the city to do any sightseeing because I was usually there on business, but the river is by far the best feature of the city. Did you visit the beach in Florida a lot, too?"

"Not really. I mean, I liked the beach, but no place I stayed really took us to the beach."

"New York doesn't have the same kind of beaches, but it's the same ocean at least. Manhattan Beach is actually quite nice, and it's quiet. Or The Hamptons has excellent beaches."

Tyler was rolling his eyes while shaking his head. "Yeah, Dad, The Hamptons are such a low-key place to vacation."

Charles turned to him. "You should take her next year when the beaches are open again."

~ooOoo~

_Braised __Octopus__ in chili oil_

"What are you eating now?" Tyler asked, his face rather disgusted and looking very much like he was going to toss his cookies at any moment.

"Braised octopus," Charles offered.

"It's good," I told him, nodding, and offering him a bite, "You should try some."

He physically jerked away from the fork. "I'm good, thanks."

Charles laughed.

"Just as long as you never make me octopus—any kind. I don't even know what braised means."

"I promise I'll never make you octopus."

"Do you like to cook?" Charles asked.

"I guess I do, yeah. Tyler's really easy to please."

"What do you like to cook?"

"I don't have a favorite really. I like making stuff that he likes, so I guess I just like it when people like what I make."

"She made casserole at Mom's the other day."

"You did?"

I nodded. "Everyone seemed to like it." I glanced at Tyler for a second before turning back to his father. "Maybe we could have you over for dinner some time."

"That would be lovely. I'd like that."

Tyler smiled at me, and it was a genuine smile, so I knew he was ok with it.

~ooOoo~

_Apple bread pudding: __green tea crumble, brown butter ice cream_ And _Warm chocolate cake with __blood orange-sake sherbet and truffle honey_

"You guys have _got_ to go to the bathroom before we leave. The bathroom is _insane_. It's floor to ceiling stalls and mirrors in the back that have cherry blossoms and shit and the toilet—it flushes itself, it deodorizes, the lid automatically goes up and down, and it _massages._ It has a remote control! You could spend, like, an hour in there just trying out all the buttons!"

Tyler didn't miss a beat. "Exactly what does it massage?"

I managed something between a giggle and a muffled snort, trying not to lose it in front of his father. "It's, like, a cleanser—thing."

"A massaging cleanser?"

"Shut up! It had different pressures and everything—front and back! Everyone in the stalls was giggling. I've never seen anything like it."

He was smirking so hard, I was kind of surprised when Charles announced he was going to check it out.

The second he left the table, Tyler grabbed my hand. "Admit it—when you were in the bathroom, you spent more time trying out the front cleanser than actually peeing."

"Admit it—when I told you about the bathroom, you were totally thinking about fucking me in it."

"Pffft, well of course."

"See! It's not just me. We have a bathroom fetish!"

"Well I didn't until you decided to get off with the front cleanser."

I pulled on his hand and he moved easily, leaning over to kiss me. And, I mean, we didn't make out in the restaurant while his dad was gone from the table or anything, but he might have moved his chair over and my hand might have been a little higher on his thigh than was decent.

"Well kids, I have an early meeting tomorrow, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to end our evening."

I loved that we really didn't move away from each other. We were nice enough not to ignore his father and keep kissing, but we both just kind of stood up then and all walked out together. And I realized as we were leaving that Charles must have taken care of the bill when he went to check out the bathroom. Sneaky. Charming. Totally something Tyler would have done.

"Thanks for dinner, Dad."

"Yeah, thank you. It was amazing—the food was…" I broke off, not even being able to put it into words. "It was so great."

"I'm glad you liked it. We should do this again." He stopped quickly and added. "I mean, I'd enjoy that, if you'd like to join me again."

Tyler nodded. "Sure."

Charles looked ridiculously pleased. I wondered if they both realized how much time and energy they could have saved if they would have just come to this understanding years ago. A lot of wasted time—they were lucky that they got to resolve it.

"It was really nice meeting you," I told him as his car pulled around.

"The pleasure was all mine. I'll call. Have a good night."

"You, too."

We waved, and watched his car leave and we sort of just started walking down the block. He grabbed my hand, and seemed kind of lost in thought, and I just left him be for a while. Eventually he squeezed my hand and bumped his arm into mine.

"I can't believe you ate that one thing. Well I can't believe you ate most of it."

"What one thing?"

"The thing that looked like fish cock cut down the middle with sauce over it."

"The _what_?! What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I don't even know what it was. It looked like fish penis."

I started laughing loudly. "I don't think fish have large penises."

"How would you know? I bet whale cock is huge."

"Whale cock?"

"Yeah. I bet you were eating, like, swordfish cock. Seriously, it had like a crown on the front and it was cut down the middle. And it was like bleeding out. It looked like tiny sliced rubber cock. I felt sympathy pain. My steak almost came back up."

"You are so weird."

"Seriously! What was it called? Swordfish cock in sauce?"

"I really wish you would have asked your dad that at the table."

He smiled. "I should have."

"Hey, that was ok, right? That I asked him to come over and have dinner?"

"Yeah, it's fine. As long as he shows up."

I leaned into him. "I'm sure he'll show up. He did tonight, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did."

"I could have fucked that dessert."

"Now _that_ I wish you would have said at the table."

I pulled on his hand. "What?" he asked.

"Do you realize where we are?"

He looked around the street. "Um… we're in the middle of a New York sidewalk, late at night, all alone in the… Oh! It's the bar!"

"Yeah!"

"I wasn't really paying attention to where we were walking. How cool is this?"

It seemed oddly fitting that we'd wind up where started. "I forgot how loud and…blue this place was." Which was really funny thing to say—basically screaming it to him over the volume of the music. "We met right over there," I yelled, pointing.

"It hasn't changed."

I shook my head. "Everything has changed."

He smiled. "That is has." Something sparked in his eyes. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'll have a beer."

"Two beers."

I wasn't sure there was anywhere quiet in this bar, but he found a table about the farthest away from the counter, and we could at least have a conversation. I started out sitting across from him, but that lasted about two minutes, and then I plopped myself in his lap. We watched the people for a while, and I think it was my turn to be just zone out thinking.

"Penny for your thoughts."

I shrugged, sipping the beer. "Your dad couldn't tell."

"Couldn't tell what?"

"About me."

"What are you talking about?"

"He doesn't know I was a stripper or a hooker. He couldn't tell."

"No one can tell that."

I shrugged. "It's just different. I'm not used to that."

"I told you it wasn't true—what you thought about giving off a vibe or whatever."

"I know you told me. That didn't make it true for me. I had to get there myself."

"I'm glad you arrived then."

"It's nice. People not knowing."

"Yeah, you're so boring and normal now." He was teasing me, but his smile was soft.

I nodded. "I like normal."

"I like normal, too."

"I thought you were refreshing," he said after we both nursed our beers for a while.

"What?" I asked, smiling at him in the way that I thought he was being a goofy dork.

"You were refreshing. I didn't have to work very hard usually. In bars."

I chuckled. "You totally thought you were gonna get laid."

"Well, that's kind of why you go out in the first place."

"Uh huh."

"I liked that it wasn't easy. You were different."

"So you liked that I made you work for it? Didn't fall right into your lap?" This conversation was rather hilarious given that he was playing with the hem of my dress the entire time—or maybe not. It wasn't a sexual kind of touching really—it was more affectionate. Or I suppose anything with us could have been both.

He kissed my temple. "I wanted to take you home with me; I'm not gonna lie. You were sexy as hell and intriguing, and you were totally into me."

I laughed loudly. "I was, huh?"

He nodded. "Completely. That's why you let me buy you a drink and stormed out of the bar."

"Stormed is a little strong. Left your charming ass there might be a better way of putting it."

"What about now?"

"What about now? I asked back.

"You already let me buy you a drink. You wanna come home with me?"

I kissed him quickly. "Yes. Today I totally wanna go home with you."

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: So, this is it (other than the epilogue…or if/when another part starts which is very possible). I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone who read and reviewed. I truly appreciate all the interest in the story and how many people have responded to it. I want to single out reviewer Laura (laurafc1107), who is quite possibly the most thorough and awesome reviewer anyone could ask for. **

**I also want to take a moment (even though they deserve much more than that) to thank Em, my wonderful story/idea partner/everything else who has been with the story from it's literal conception and has never faltered. Without her the story would not have been what it is, and it would not have the same heart. She's been the one I go to for ideas, the one who's held my hand, and the one to spend countless hours making it what it is. She's the one that gets the frustration and the writers' block and everything else. Thank you, honey, for everything you've done and know how much I appreciate it. It's awesome how much the story has brought us. Love you! I also want to thank Kaia, who beta-ed the story and assisted as well, and has been a wonderful support system for over a decade. Mwah! **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty**

* * *

**TPOV**

I'd been serious about school for approximately fourteen minutes. In that fourteen minutes, I was definitely considering bailing from this office and scrapping the entire idea. People could totally audit classes for the rest of their lives, right? There was no appeal to an actual degree, right?

The conversation went something like this:

Random advisor that didn't know me at all: "So…Tyler is it? You enrolled in the fall of 2007?"

"Yes."

"And you've successfully completed…eight points?"

Well when you say it like _that_, it sounds totally bad. I nodded regardless.

"Did you transfer somewhere else?"

"No."

Random advisor blinked at me while I chewed my way through three different nails and tried to keep me leg from bouncing her desk like it was fucking possessed.

"So how is it that you only have eight points, Tyler?"

She didn't say it condescendingly, or judgmentally. And I took a huge, deep breath and decided to keep that whole truth thing going. Not that I wanted to necessarily pour out my soul to this woman I didn't know, but I mean, I pissed away four perfectly good years of my life, so I better have a damn good explanation for it. "Honestly, I didn't really care until recently."

"Yet you kept taking courses as audits?"

I shrugged. "My brother died when I was sixteen. It made me not care about a lot of things. School was definitely one of them. The two classes I actually completed were only because I found them interesting or the prof was really invested in me. Auditing kept my old man off my back because I was still technically in school and I didn't really have to worry about grades or tests or homework. It was like school without the work. That was very appealing."

"And what's different now?"

"I don't want to be stuck here forever. I have no direction, no career goals, and now that I've pissed away four years where I should have been taking it seriously, I realize what a huge mistake that's been. I have someone in my life now that makes me want to be better. I need to be responsible—for myself, for one, but for her, too."

She seemed to be considering me, evaluating. Maybe she was one of those people that had great bullshit-detecting instincts and she was trying to see if I set hers off. I dunno. I was really honest because she asked me to be. And lying and charming wasn't going to get me anywhere this time. So if she shot this down, I didn't really know what my next recourse was.

She looked down at what I'm sure was the saddest transcript at this institution. I wondered if GPAs could be negative? Then she looked up at me again. I wasn't really a nervous person normally, but I think my lunch was going to come up soon if she didn't stop appraising me and just give me a damn answer.

"You realize all the courses you've taken as audit will not transfer for credit?"

"Yep."

"So potentially you'll have to take others or those over again for actual credit to make that up?"

"Yep." I nodded slowly.

She nodded back at me. "Any idea what you want to study?"

"I know I don't want to study business."

She smiled at that. "Ok, that's a start. Why don't we select a standard liberal arts program for your first few semesters? That should give you a basic footing and might spark what you want to study from there. Usually freshmen enroll in Writing I, Cultural Foundations I, and Social Foundations I."

Sounded _thrilling_. Foundations of anything were _right _up my alley. Instead I forced a smile. "Yeah, ok."

She smiled back at me in a way that seemed like she'd known me a lot longer. "I teach Creative Writing. I could get you into one of my classes if you like. I think four classes are probably enough for your first venture into real academia, yes?"

I chuckled. "Probably, yeah. I have a job, too, so that would probably be wise. And that'd be great."

"Then I'll sign off for your advising requirement. And I'll see you in class." She gave me this expectant look, like she thought I wasn't going to show up or something.

"Of course."

"You've got a lot of work ahead of you. A lot to make up."

"I know. I'll do it. Whatever it takes."

"All right."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Don't disappoint me."

No pressure! Funny though, leaving her office, I felt surprisingly _good_ about things. I mean, when I applied myself I knew I could accomplish things. It mostly had to do with attitude. I could do school; I just never gave much of a shit before. I had more than one reason now.

By the time I was heading home, I had an actual, real schedule with classes that were not audit. I had a book list; a book list that had actual, required texts. I was sort of enthused about the prospect of required reading. How geeky was that?

I skipped every other stair going up to the apartment, excited to tell Allison how it went. Maybe she'd want to tag along and we could go get my books tomorrow. I could show her around the campus—all the places I screwed around not learning anything and all the places I'd have to be serious about now. I kinda just wanted her to see where I'd be applying myself.

She didn't hear me come in. Music was playing loud enough that she wouldn't have, and she was sort of flitting around the kitchen, getting stuff ready to make dinner. Dart to the freezer, grab hamburger. Dart to the stove, pan on the burner. Dart to the fridge, chop onion and toss it in the pan. All the while singing really loudly some Kills song I hadn't heard in a long time.

_You can holler, you can wail  
You can swing, you can flail  
You can fuck like a broken sail  
But I'll never give you up  
If I ever give you up my heart will surely fail_

Apparently we were having burgers. And she was bopping along, her hips swaying to the music, standing completely obliviously in front of the stove. Her hair was in a ponytail, her shorts were cut-offs and both deliciously and indecently short. She was wearing a stark, white tank top that seemed both incredibly innocent and at the same time the perfect pair for the short-shorts.

_You can holler, you can wail  
You can blow what's left of my right mind  
You can swing, you can flail  
You can blow what's left of my right mind  
I don't mind_

She was my reason now. For everything.

She was still too busy into her dinner task and her off-key singing to notice me. The onions were starting to sizzle in the pan, and she was doing this adorably sexy little dance with the flipper in her hand. It still wasn't a spatula. Flippers flipped burgers, too. Just like they did pancakes.

I moved slowly, quietly, and pressed myself against her, my hands landing on her hips, swaying with the music, fingers inching forward to rest on her stomach. My chin fit perfectly resting on her shoulder. I mouthed over her neck before peppering kisses there, breathing out in a way only she could elicit.

"You'd look better in my shirt," I whispered over her neck.

She sighed happily, leaning back against my shoulder, like she'd melt right into me.

"I had it on before…" she moaned as I trailed my tongue down her shoulder, and reached around her to turn off the burner. The spatula fell to the floor, but I didn't really care where it was at the moment, or what the fuck it was called.

"We should take this off then…" I stopped for a second. "Is Aidan here?" It was actually really fucking annoying to even have to worry about that.

She shook her head. "No. Would it matter if he was?"

"No," I said quickly, closing my mouth over hers. "Not really."

~ooOoo~

**APOV **

Tyler would be home soon. I figured I should start dinner in case things didn't go well at the school and comfort food was necessary. That was basically the deciding factor for what we were having. He liked my burgers for some reason. It wasn't like you could really ruin a burger, but he said they tasted better. Little did he know that I was making these _bacon cheeseburgers_ just in case _much_ comfort was needed. I never really liked teachers; it didn't matter where they were from. College teachers were still teachers. I hoped they'd cut him some slack. He left really nervous, which wasn't really like him at all.

So I cranked up some tunes and got started on chopping onions and was pretty much in my food-groove when he was suddenly just _there_, all pressing himself into my back and hands over my stomach. I loved the instant warmth that flooded everywhere when he did that. And apparently whichever way things had gone, food wasn't the first thing on his mind.

Sex first and food second was still a damn good plan in my book. His hands drifted to cup my tits and if I couldn't tell by the way his hips shoved into me while he pulled me back into him, the way he moaned, "The no bra makes up for the lack of my shirt," kinda tipped me off to his happiness about that.

"Noted." I pretty much grunted out the word. It all felt too good, and I could feel him hard behind me.

His hands dropped suddenly to the hem of my shirt, and it was ridiculous how easily I lost it, yanked hurriedly over my head. He tugged at the button on my shorts, rough but the eagerness made it somehow both completely sexy while still adorable. Like he couldn't get me out of these clothes fast enough. My shorts were on the floor seconds later, underwear with them.

I anticipated him fucking me right there in front of the stove, but he pulled me back again to rest against him, and despite the rapid way I lost all the clothes, he seemed momentarily content just to be touching me again, caressing my sides, my nipples, while his lips and tongue lapped over every bit of my neck and shoulders he could reach. I finally reached back and grabbed onto his shorts because a girl needs something to ground her when there was that much attention. I sort of felt like I would just spiral out of his grasp and wind up a mess on the floor. I was so wet, and I knew he knew that.

One of his hands slowly pried my grip away from the material of his shorts, and I thought at first he was just giving me something else to hold onto…until the hand kept moving mine and it was right over my pussy.

Sensual, have you met Tyler?

My eyes closed almost immediately, which actually only made it better. His fingers, my fingers—our fingers traced over my outer lips, his thumb rubbing over my clit, and had he not been holding me up, I would have dropped to the floor right there.

He spread me open and pushed both of our fingers inside, exploring me together. It felt like a completely new experience—like I'd never felt inside myself before—rediscovering it with him. His fingers were so much bigger than mine and I wanted to follow them wherever they were pushing us.

I felt like my breathing was tied to where we went—where my breath would hitch, where I would grunt and moan and bite my lip to keep from completely shouting out.

"Don't. Let me hear it. I want to know it feels good."

Well he didn't really have to tell me twice.

He moved back to trace my opening before pressing us inside again, curling our fingers, and I really couldn't stop from panting around the grunted shouts.

His mouth was right next to my ear, a whisper that just made me shudder. "Deeper?"

Anyone else, I would have been completely embarrassed by the incredibly needy way I said, "Yes."

Pushing us deeper, curling our fingers, the heel of his hand perfectly over my clit while he was grinding into me from behind. Pull out—trace, rub, dip inside, stroke inside, the wetness coating us, leaking all over my thighs.

"Is that good?"

"Fuck, Tyler."

"More?"

"Always."

"You like it?"

It was something about the way he said it (or the fact that we'd just fingered me together); half whisper, his voice so deep and at that raspy point of totally aroused. At which point I basically came all over our fingers and he was both totally amused and more than a tiny bit self-satisfied. I mean he knew I could do the same thing to him, so it wasn't a power thing. We just liked that we could get each other off. If that wasn't enough, he decided it was a good idea if we both tasted each other's fingers. I watched as he brought my hand up to his mouth and his up to mine, and I'm not sure which was more suggestive or stimulating. Feeling his tongue lap at my fingers and suck me off of them was amazing, his teeth scraping gently along the skin. Sucking the taste of myself off of his fingers though, might have edged out as the winner. Tasting myself in his kiss was always extraordinary; tasting myself after his hand had literally just been inside me was sort of in a class by itself.

I kinda thought we'd fuck right here. I could just bend over the counter and he could slide right in from behind, but he turned me and I squealed when he lifted me, yet my legs curled around him naturally and I basically climbed him like a fucking tree, my arms going around his neck.

He turned towards the table and apparently we weren't making it to the bed.

He shoved the shit that littered the table to the floor, plastic glasses bouncing hollowly against the linoleum, random silverware making that metallic pinging noise, and eased me back onto the surface, his mouth meeting mine in a sloppy kind of kiss. It was probably not a good idea to test the limits of this table. It was flimsy as shit and the only other time we'd fucked here I hadn't had my entire weight on it. I had no idea if it would even hold, but we were gonna test that. I giggled when my shoulder hit something. "Ow. Fuck. Fork, Tyler. Fork."

He lifted me just enough to snatch it and literally threw the fork into the living room. He smiled at me in this incredibly proud way, like he defeated the fork or something. The second he was back over me, I started pulling his shirt from the bottom up, hauling it over his head and had another giggle fit when it got stuck and he was momentarily very frustrated.

You'd think he was in a hurry or something.

He took care of his shorts, and the only reason I knew that was because I heard them hit the floor. I didn't really have time to care because his mouth was between my legs a second later and there's just something completely erotic about being tongue-fucked on your kitchen table. I couldn't hold my legs up; they just dangled uselessly while he made a complete meal of eating me out. I loved that he could make me come without even touching me, and he seemed determined to knock out all of those today. Come by touching, check. Come without touching, check, check.

Fingers were sort of unnecessary then. I just wanted him in me. That was all. I got out exactly, "Tyler—" before he was pushing inside, the rest lost in the feeling of fullness.

He started out really close to me, deep and slow and completely not like the hurriedness of the beginning. Maybe it was his transition period, or his way of apologizing for not making this slower. I don't fucking know. All I did know was that I loved the feeling of his upper bodyweight pressing into me, and I didn't really care because hurried did have its advantages. He kissed me again, slowly moving down to mouth over my chest, his fingers trailing over my tits again, my nipples so fucking sensitive.

Eventually he backed up, standing instead of leaning over me. I don't know why that was fuck-all sexier. Maybe it was the way that he was holding my legs back or up, or whatever position he decided they needed to be in to keep me open for him. Maybe it was that my vantage point basically left me to see everything from his waist up, and the way his body just kept slapping into mine, not to mention the sounds of our skin meeting that really had no place in the kitchen, but seemed pointless anywhere else at the moment. Or the way he pushed in and held himself there, pulling my legs back into him and holding me there, too to thrust deeper. Or that I could see all the muscles in his chest and his arms and his stomach and I could watch his hands flex and literally could probably come on nothing else and be damn happy with it. Or that I could feel his thighs and the power behind his hips and couldn't really see it. Or the feeling of his quick thrusts, spreading me wider and pushing him deeper and I couldn't get enough of any of it.

I'd never get enough of this, of Tyler.

His eyes kept moving between watching us, watching himself slide in and out of me, and watching me, his hands on a constant loop of trailing over my skin, possessive and gentle and completely him, dipping to kiss me in between. I had a passing thought of how the table would be completely covered in us by the time we were done here.

The table seemed completely rickety and inadequate to deal with the amount of motion that was going on here. If I wouldn't have been splayed out all over it with Tyler pushing into me, I suppose I would have been more worried about the way it was literally banging into the divider wall between the living room and the kitchen. He hooked my legs around him and leaned forward again, his thrusts harder, faster, more forceful, and a relentless pace that I never wanted to stop, pushing us both so close.

Sometimes I wanted to tell him things when we were this intense. When everything was powerful and concentrated and the love I felt for him was literally igniting someplace bottomless inside me. But words never seemed to have the same meaning when speaking was unnecessary. I could feel everything he wanted to say.

His name came tumbling out while the table creaked like it was breaking with us. The full-body flare of release washed over me, mixed with that sense of completeness that had nothing to do with the orgasm itself.

His head thumped against the table for a second, our breathing trying to outpace each other, before he nuzzled his face against mine and sluggishly tracked his mouth back, restarting the slowest, most languidly happy kind of kissing. He was still thrusting lazily, which just meant there'd be more of a mess all over the table and, ya know, neither of us really gave a shit about that. Tables were made to be cleaned.

"I think the table is fucked, baby."

"Eh, we'll get a new one. A stronger one."

I laughed softly, cupping his cheek, and ran my thumb over his lips. "I love you."

"I wanna live with you."

I smiled up at him, 'cause he was a sappy dope after orgasm. "Yeah, me too."

His breathing was still fast. He shook his head. "No, I mean I think we should live together."

I laughed softly. Orgasm-brain. "Yeah, ok."

He just smiled some more, and kissed me again, but there was a sort of unclear look of… I couldn't place it really. We basically just went back to making out on the table, feeling each other up, and kissing like teenagers, but he seemed really happy, so I didn't bring it up again.

Getting dressed again was sort of amusing. I wasn't sure we'd ever really redressed in the kitchen before. His was way faster than mine—although I think he spent a fair amount of that time appreciating the way I shimmied my thong back on and had to adjust it before and after I pulled the shorts up.

He sighed in this really pathetic way.

"What?"

"You're still not wearing my shirt."

"Well you stole it like an asshole before I could grab it. I had to put on this tank top."

"Coulda made the burgers topless. Just sayin. The underwear were pointless, too. You'll just lose them again soon."

"Always so confident."

He smiled at me smugly. It was truth anyway.

"So tell me about school while I attempt dinner for the second time."

"Cooking is sexy. Can you blame me?"

I smiled at him over my shoulder. "I'm making bacon cheeseburgers."

"You looking to get laid again? 'Cause I could turn the burner off again."

"Behave for five minutes or so. C'mon, tell me about school. What happened?"

He blew out a breath. I wasn't sure that was a good start or not. "Well…basically I've squandered four years. And I have nothing to show for it. That's the short version. None of the audit credits will transfer, so I basically get to start over."

I turned and hugged him before sitting on his lap. "I'm sorry, Tyler."

"No, it's ok. It's my own fault. And I have to deal with that. The advisor they assigned to me was pretty nice about it. I was honest, so I guess there wasn't much for her to say. She got me into one of her classes and the regular liberal arts freshman courses."

"Is that good?"

"They're 'Foundation' courses. Like surveys of topics. No, I think I'll hate them. But I'll do it. I have to. So I'll suck it up and probably complain to you every day like a whiny child. I hope you have a large store of patience."

"For you, yes. I'll make it better. And there's always bacon."

"Fuck the bacon if there's you."

"Aww."

He shrugged. "Man's gotta have priorities… That's not to say I'll turn down the bacon."

"I figured."

"I was thinking maybe you'd want to come with me tomorrow to get my books. I could show you around the campus—all the places I screwed off not getting grades and all that. And where I'll be slaving away now. We can have lunch there."

"Sure, that'd be cool."

He nodded, happy that I agreed.

"Can you set the table again? You made kind of a mess," I teased.

He smiled, like it was more a thing of pride. "Absolutely."

He set tables like a guy—a thoughtful guy; not the rushed kind that just threw it all on the table—that was more for the brushing it off. It looked like it took a serious amount of concentration. Or like I was going to test him on the spoons being on the correct side or something—it was actually pretty cute.

He looked down at the table when he was done, and his brow was all furrowed. "Hmm."

"What?"

He glanced at me and then had one of those 'Oh!' looks and took off for the living room, coming back proudly with a fork. "Knew something was missing."

"You are such a geek."

"I'm going to be even more of a geek now."

"Why is that? 'Cause you're going to pay attention in class now?"

"Well, I might concentrate sometimes. But, no, I was sort of already salivating at the idea of required reading."

"And here I thought it was my burgers."

He brushed me off. "Pffft, you make me salivate for a lot less than that."

"I think that was a compliment, so I'm going to take it as one."

"It was _totally_ a compliment. I haven't _had_ to read anything in a long time. I think it'll be kind of nice."

I set a plate down in front of him. "I'm sorry our sex life has prevented your reading."

He pulled me into his lap. "My reading will not impede on our sex life. But I'm still geeking out about it a little."

"Whatever gets you off, honey."

~ooOoo~

**TPOV **

So…perhaps I hadn't planned the whole 'asking her to live with me' thing very well. Kind of like when I originally just blurted that I loved her during sex; I had a penchant for those kinds of really important things just tumbling out whenever my emotions got the best of me.

But I was totally serious. And I don't think she really knew that. I think she thought that I was just post-coital and all love-stoned, but I really meant it.

She rolled for me easily, her legs even rising, knees bent, like she was ready to have sex with me… Given that I did wake her up that way fairly often, it was sort of just awesome that she did it, but I really wanted conversation. I sounded like such a _girl_.

She "Mmmm-ed" at me sleepily, her hands already reaching for me.

"Baby?"

"Hmm?"

"I really was serious."

"What?" She was still groggy, but blinking at me slowly. "What?" she said again.

"I was serious."

"'Bout what?"

"I want us to live together."

"Wait, what?" she was awake now, the sleepiness giving way to something much more coherent.

"I don't wanna worry about Aidan being home anymore. Or anyone else in our apartment. I want to just live with you. I want us to live together. Our own place."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I want that with you. I think we're ready. What do you think?" I realized that was probably a horrible position to put her in on the spot. Especially if she didn't think she was ready for that. I mean, we lived together. That was already true. But it was a big step to really make that kind of commitment to a place _together_ versus she lived here in _my _place. "You don't have to answer right now."

"No, I mean…yes."

I cocked my head at her. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"Really yes?"

She laughed at me. "Really yes, Tyler."

Ecstatic—was the only word I could think of at the moment. And love. Always love.

And she'd been totally ready to have sex with me—it seemed silly not to capitalize on that in celebration now.

~ooOoo~

So to sum up the night, I was going back to school, I had an awesome girl that loved me and we were totally moving in together, and as always sex with her was as awesome as she was, and the afterglow seemed even more satisfactory currently.

"Should we talk about _our_ apartment?"

She giggled. "Are you a little excited about this?"

"Aren't you?"

She nodded, smiling at me. "I am."

"Ok! Then we should obviously talk about our apartment. What should our apartment be like?"

"Um. What do you mean? Like besides four walls?"

I scoffed. "You have to use your imagination. If you could have anything, what would you pick? Then we can see if the places we look at have those things."

"I don't think I've ever thought of that before really."

"Well now you can start!"

"I don't want a tiny shower," she blurted.

"I kinda loved your tiny shower, but I agree. We'll look for a bigger shower."

"Aidan can keep your couch."

I laughed. "Yes, he can keep that. What do you want to keep from your apartment?"

"All of my furniture is shit, and it doesn't match. I don't need to keep it."

"I liked your bed."

She blinked at me. "And that's why we've slept in yours for months?"

"Well that's only because we spent most of the time here and my bed was already here."

"I know."

"It's not even really a bed. It has no frame. Yours has a frame and I remember it being really comfortable. I don't think I would have slept well in it otherwise." I didn't have to tell her the night in particular I was thinking about.

She touched my cheek. "Ok, maybe."

"We could get a new bed."

"No. We have two perfectly good beds."

"What? Why can't we buy a new bed?"

"I don't think we should buy all new stuff. You have plenty of stuff and we can use some of mine; it's just not matching and shit."

I laughed. "Why do you think I made amends with my father? I mean he's totally paying for this."

She laughed again, but this one was one of those sarcastic, humorless laughs. "Yeah, or not…" She paused, looking at me. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

I looked down, away from her eyes. "Uh, a while," I said quietly, shyly.

"Did you really make up with your dad for this?"

"No. I mean, that helps, but, no. I didn't really go in to see him with any of that in mind. I was anticipating a fight, honestly. But when he was making an effort with Caroline, and the pictures and stuff…it was just sort of a perk."

"A perk, huh?"

"I asked him about it. I asked him for help."

"You asked your dad for help?"

"Yeah. With going back to school and moving in with you."

"So you asked me to move in with you with your dad first?"

She was teasing me, and I kissed her instead of giving her shit about it. "I didn't really ask him that part. I told him we were moving in together. And then I asked him for help."

"There's that confidence again. What if I would have said no?"

I laughed. "Then I guess I'd be really bummed right now. But you would have still had sex with me, right?"

"Out of pity, of course."

"Right, right. So then I'd get over the crushing feeling."

"Did you think I'd say no?"

"I dunno. No, not really. Maybe. I didn't know if you were ready or not. I thought about asking Doug for permission actually, but that seemed a little too formal, and he was already threatening to do bodily harm. I'll save that for his next visit. Once we're already living together. You can tell him."

"I'm gonna have to tell Jordan. You'll have to tell Aidan, too."

~ooOoo~

**APOV **

I wasn't really sure how to do this. I'd never actually moved out on a friend before. Or moved out and told someone I was doing it. I was sort of just one of those leave one morning people. This was different for so many reasons. I was sticking her with the whole amount of rent, and I really had been _gone_ for a long time already.

"I feel like I've been a horrible friend."

"Yeah, you totally have been," she dead-panned, smirking at me.

"No, but seriously."

"Yeah, what happened to 'chicks over dicks' and all that?"

She was teasing me but I still felt bad. "I really like this dick."

She waved at me, sighing. "I know, I know. Fuck god."

"I like more than his dick."

She sighed again, more dramatically. "I know."

"I love him, Jordan."

She morphed into a full-blown smile. I wasn't really expecting that. I'm not sure what I expected. Of course, I hadn't actually told her the part about me moving out. Maybe the smile would fall then.

"That's great, Allison. And about time, too—the poor bastard's loved you forever, I think."

Well. Not what I expected, either.

"What?"

"He's been in love with you for months."

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"Because he told me."

"When did he tell you?"

"At the hospital that night. When he broke his hand."

It all kind of clicked into place at once. "_That's _why you were ok with him after that!"

She shrugged. "I guess. We had a good talk. And he was sincere when he told me. He didn't have to tell me that. I guess that made me realize he was really serious and invested."

"Yeah, he's totally invested." I paused, and then added. "We're getting married."

That made her face fall. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah. I mean, we figured that was best for the baby."

Her face was so alarmed now. "_What!? _You're _pregnant_?"

Her near stroke was kind of amusing, and I have to admit, I was selling this really fucking well. I nodded for a second. "Yeah…" then figured I should probably not leave her there. "No, actually we're just moving in together, but I was trying that whole give bad news with worse news thing you taught me."

She sat down, her hand on her chest. "Jesus Fucking _Christ_. Give me a heart attack, why don'tcha?"

I laughed. "Your face was hilarious."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"You were, like, _horrified_."

"Well! You just told me you loved him! Stranger things have happened!"

"We're much more careful than that."

"Thank God."

"I've not gone off the deep end and decided parenting for me at 21 is a good idea. You can chill."

She pointed her finger at me. "If he asks you to marry him, your answer is 'No.' A staunch 'No.' For years. Decades maybe."

I laughed. "We won't rush anything."

"God. Ok, so you're moving out?"

"Doesn't seem so bad now, right?"

"Well you haven't been here much anyway."

"I know. And I'm sorry about that. I also want to apologize for leaving you with all the rent."

"No, no, I mean, I figured it was coming. It's not practical for you to keep a place here, too. I get it. It's fine. I'm really happy for you. Once my heart rate slows to something more normal, I might even hug you, but until then I still kind of want to slap you, so keep your distance."

"I can do that."

"Fuck, woman."

"Are you gonna be ok?"

"Of course. I'm sure there's some girl at the club that needs a place. Some young girl that might need socialization and a GED."

"You do have a habit of picking them up. Just stay in New York. Don't go moving on me anytime."

"Well, I'll still see you at work."

"Of course."

"Are you gonna do an apartment-warming or something?"

"A what?"

"Like a party for your new place."

"Oh. I dunno. We haven't really talked about that."

"Have you picked a place?"

"No, we kind of just decided. We haven't really looked at any yet. But I wanted to be up front so it wasn't a shock or anything."

"Yeah, there was no shock today."

I laughed. "I'm so proud of myself."

"You should be. For lots of things."

She was complimenting me. And I was gonna take it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

~ooOoo~

"Hey, baby."

"Hey," I said back. I don't know what I was expecting really. Sulking perhaps? Pouting? Weeping? I dunno. This wasn't it.

Instead of any of that, Aidan was just chill, and they were sitting on the couch, playing a fucking video game. Had he not told him? That had been the plan—split up and tell them both.

I sat on the arm of the couch next to where Tyler was sitting and nudged him since both of them were basically ignoring me. He did one of those sideways glances while not really giving me his full attention.

"Well?" I whispered.

"What?"

I nodded in Aidan's direction.

I got another distracted glance. "Huh?"

I let my eyebrows rise and made a more dramatic nod towards Aidan before giving Tyler the equivalent of _Well!?_ again without saying it again.

Blank. Completely blank. Boys were so thick.

"How did it go?" I asked; all clipped and with a fair amount of _duh_ mixed in.

"The fuck are you talking about?"

I smacked his shoulder.

"What?!"

At least now I had his full attention. I mouthed _The moving._

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen. "Jesus. We're fine. It's cool."

"Cool?"

"Yes, cool."

"What the fuck does 'cool' mean?"

He paused the game, and gave me his patient look. "It means this is how the conversation went: 'Dude, I'm moving out.' 'You're moving out?' 'Yeah, Allison and I are getting our own place. You're gonna have to find someplace else to stay unless you want the full rent here.' 'Where is Jordan living?' 'Fuck if I know. Why?' 'We could rent the place together.' And then we started playing this game. So he thinks we're, like, trading places or some shit."

Aidan grinned at me. "I will need a roommate. I'm very clean."

I just stared at him.

"Relatively clean."

More staring.

"I'm a fucking slob but I can be better."

I shook my head. "Dude, she's not moving in with you."

"She hasn't even entertained my offer!"

"Um, yeah, I don't think she really needs to."

"I'm totally taking the big room. I can share! I can't wait for you losers to leave. Think of all the peace and quiet I'll have when no one is fucking constantly."

I forced myself into the space between them on the couch and threw an arm over Aidan's shoulders. "You're totally going to miss us. I know it."

He shrugged me off. "Yeah, well don't rub it in."

"Is that a tear, or do you have dust in your eye?"

"It's just because I'm handing him his ass in this game."

"It's not like I won't know where you live and can't visit."

Neither Tyler nor I said anything.

"Right?" Aidan asked.

Tyler and I smiled and said nothing. Tyler unpaused the game.

Aidan died pretty much instantly because he was still looking at us instead of the game. "I'm not going to miss you at all."

"You died, dude." I pointed out.

"I'll make sure you have visiting hours," Tyler added. "But I can't promise there won't be constant fucking."

"My next roommate is going to be so much better than you," Aidan mumbled.

~ooOoo~

Tyler starting school was interesting. It was both amusing and kind of awesome to see him throw himself into something so seriously. It was nice to see a different side of Tyler, too. Academic Tyler was kind of intense in a determined way that shouldn't have been surprising to me at all given his fondness of projects like finding my favorites and experiencing shit. He could be kind of a moody fucker, too. Moody in a frustrated way that may have had to do with the fact that spending time together took some hits. It seemed to me that college was about two things—reading way too much useless shit and then puking it back out in either a paper of some sort or a test—and I always thought tests were stupid. Tyler seemed just as frustrated by the actual volume of shit he was required to read and then he'd get even more upset when what he read wasn't directly related to shit they were studying.

School and Tyler meant serious sacrifices on my part, too. I had to be responsible and shit like that just because he needed to _study_. Usually if I was in the bedroom with him, I wasn't being responsible, so I tried to let him get as much done before crashing the bedroom or else things kinda didn't get done then. Or rather, things got _done_, just not in his school-sense.

So it was while I was trying to be really responsible and let him finish writing another endless paper that I found an apartment listing that I thought we needed to check out. And I kinda couldn't wait because it sounded really cool.

I grabbed the paper and poked my head in the bedroom. He had shit sprawled all over the bed and a pen stuck in his mouth, and he kinda really needed a desk, I think. Our new apartment needed a desk. He had that little line in between his eyes that meant he was concentrating really hard on something. I almost didn't say anything, and just went back into the kitchen, but this was exciting and he'd just have to go back to concentrating later.

So I basically threw the door open and bounded into the room, jumping on the bed next to him and bouncing half of his shit to the floor. He didn't try to stop any of it, so it must not have been that important.

"I don't mean to interrupt you but I totally think we need to check out this apartment."

He took the pen out of his mouth and chucked it on the stack of papers. "Yeah?"

He looked tired. Maybe the break would help. "Definitely." I handed him the paper. "Check out the one I circled."

_Available for immediate move-in: luxurious one-bedroom apartment just cleaned and updated. Bedroom can easily accommodate a queen-sized bed as well as other furniture. This building has been in my family for years and features newly refinished wood and tile floors, updated kitchen with appliances, and an interior that's modern and homey. The basement has laundry and storage for each tenant. It doesn't get much better than rent including all utilities. Sorry no pets!_

"Aww, well Aidan can't visit—it says no pets."

I laughed.

"It sounds great. We should check it out."

"Whatcha doin now?"

He sighed and dropped the book he was still holding onto the floor. "I'm checking out apartments with you."

"I don't want to distract you if you need to keep working."

"Distract me. It's horribly boring."

"Great. Let's go! You don't need an appointment."

~ooOoo~

The apartment seemed perfect in print—just what we were looking for. And I found myself more excited than I thought I would be to just check out apartments. I think it was the idea that it would be _ours_, or it was the fact that I had more of a say in where I was going to be living than probably ever before in my life. Usually apartments were just a matter of circumstance, location, or if they were cheap. This was the exact opposite of that. It was a place to make a home with Tyler. It was something we were deciding together. I really loved that.

I wasn't sure I was completely ok with the idea of his father paying for a large portion of it, but I also realistically knew it wasn't going to be possible without some type of help—especially if Tyler was supposed to be focusing on school.

"Is this apartment above a pizza place?"

"Looks that way."

"Guess they didn't advertise that part."

"That seems like it would be really awesome."

"The smell doesn't seem so awesome."

"Totally."

"It's probably baked into the walls at this point."

"That's probably strike number one."

The realtor was overly-nice and way too pushy, but rushed all the same. And totally knew that the place smelled liked it was baked in grease daily. He kept trying to talk to Tyler as though that would make his case better, or Tyler would understand how pizza-smell was really awesome 24/7.

Both Tyler and I knew we were not taking this apartment, and I think the dude knew it, too, but that didn't stop him from forcing us to wait through his entire pitch.

"Why the fuck did he keep trying to sell me on the smell of pizza night and day?"

I smiled. "Because you look like the kind of guy that would enjoy that?"

"Ok, so let's go with that premise—if he then thought that I was the one to sell it on, why didn't he try to sell it to you, too. Wouldn't you be the tougher sell in this scenario?"

"Maybe he was just an asshole who thought women have no say."

Tyler laughed.

"It was ugly, too."

"It was pretty hideous."

"The floor was gross. Like the grease just leaks up through the floors."

"What should we do now?"

I pulled on his hand until I was at the curb and sat down. He stood there for a second before I pulled some more and he finally joined me.

"Are we giving up hope already? Taking to a life on the curb?"

"I think I know where we can get some refrigerator boxes. We can have a designer box-apartment."

"I hear the roofs leak on those types of domiciles."

"Pfffft, that's a myth. Cardboard is very absorbent and yet water rolls right off. Besides my apartment with Jordan totally leaked and we just shoved a bucket under the leak."

"Well then I have nothing to be concerned about. I'm glad you have it all figured out."

"Stick with me, you'll be ok." I patted his leg absently, digging for the paper. "Now be quiet while I find the other two I looked at in here."

"And here I thought this was going to be a fast trip."

I pinched him. "Behave. Or I'll make you get your own room or sleep on the couch."

He smirked, but was quiet while I looked over the other listings I wanted to check out.

"Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"Read this to me."

He took the paper wordlessly, and I think he thought it had difficult words or something, and I both loved that he did it without question and without judgment if that's what this was really about.

"One bedroom, utilities included, extremely comfu." He stopped. "Comfu?"

I burst out laughing, and his face went from serious to goofy smile instantly. "What the fuck is 'comfu' exactly?"

"That's why I wanted you to read it out loud."

"When we get there, I'm going to ask them what the definition of comfu is, and if it's like a new level of comfortable that I do not understand. Maybe it's Bohemian."

"That's it, I bet. It's Bohemian comfort."

"Not sure where the 'u' comes into play..."

"Maybe it's actually the opposite. Maybe they're secretly telling us all to fuck off. Come and F-you; Comfu."

"Maybe we should start looking online instead. Where there are actual pictures of the places and we can decide before we even leave if it's gross or ugly or whatever."

"I kind of liked the novelty of circling things in the paper, but if you want to take all the fun and surprise out of it, I guess."

He laughed. "Then keep circling comfu places in the paper, and we'll do it that way."

He leaned over and kissed my cheek, so I turned my head to meet his mouth instead the next time. "What was that for?"

"Nothing. I don't need a reason."

I smiled, and went back to the paper, leaning my head on his shoulder and sneaking my hand between his legs to hug his thigh. Pretty sure Tyler would consider that affection. And basically we just hung out on the curb that way for a while. Just 'cause.

I pulled my arm back, patting his leg before standing up. "Ok, should we keep looking? We can knock out a few more of these tonight."

"Technically I already have everything I need."

I laughed. "Wow. You are such a fucking cheese ball. Let's go."

"I meant with a roommate."

I nodded knowingly. "Sure, sure you did."

He grabbed my hand as he stood up with me. "You want sushi for dinner?"

"Aww. You do love me."

"Well I'm having pizza. I've got a taste for it now that I feel like it's seeped into my clothes from that apartment."

I squeezed his hand.

"But yes, of course I love you."

"I love you, too. Cheese ball and all."

The other apartment I wanted to check out was vaguely in the direction we were heading, but I didn't really even care. We'd find one.

There was a little girl running down the sidewalk after what looked like her older brother, yelling and screaming; the brownstones were all the same brick color the entire length of this block. Rap music bellowed loudly from a car making its way down the street. A cab breezed past honking consistently. Even in this section of the city, noise was all around us. Walking hand in hand with Tyler—I liked being part of the noise. I liked being part of this city. It felt like my city now.

~Finis~

* * *

Thank you to all that reviewed! I make every attempt to answer them. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr & Blog links in my profile. Also the damn playlist won't post here - ff prohibits the links. So check it out on the Blog or via Twitter links if you're interested.


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: Why...****hello there! Been a while! Voila! The Epilogue! Lalala, I don't really have anything else to say in particular about this. LOL  
**

**However! I do want to thank Em for her patience and persistence, because this would not have been completed without her (as always).  
**

**We also thought it would be cool to have a sort of Q & A Session if people are interested. Any answers to questions would basically be more story, or back-story, so if you have any questions or always wanted to know something about the conception behind a scene, idea, whatever, this is your chance. We can talk about this story 24/7 to each other (and do!), so it's more an opportunity to have that be shared with the readers. Anything is fair game. Ask via any medium you wish-Twitter, PMs, etc., and I'll post them all to Twitter. **

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

**TPOV **

I liked our new apartment. Truthfully, the apartment itself hadn't mattered. It was home because she was in it. But it was sort of perfect for us. It was in Chelsea, which was closer for her to work and not any farther for me to get to school. We looked at eleven different apartments before finding this one, so in this case I guess the twelfth was the charm. It took less than a month for us to find it, and even though the initial thought of moving while in school was completely antithetical to basically everything, it fit us so perfectly that we had to jump on the chance. It was just one bedroom, but we didn't need anything more than that. It had a standing washer and dryer right behind the door as you walked in, which was awesome—I hadn't had laundry in the actual place I lived since I was at home. I wouldn't miss trucking loads up and down stairs to a basement facility. The kitchen was just to the left after the door. It was small but functional and Allison seemed to like it even if it was smaller than her old apartment. The cabinetry was black, which I thought was tasteful and the walls were white, but we could always paint them later if we wanted to.

The table/dining area was just after the kitchen; it fit a table and four chairs so that's all that was required. Beyond that was the living room space and further before the bedroom was probably the thing that sold us on the apartment (besides the bedroom that we both loved). It had this little nook with a desk, and she insisted that I needed a desk for school. I'd be lying if the nook itself didn't turn on my inner-geek; it had bookshelves and while it was a small area, it was the neatest feature of any apartment we'd seen. The living room was bigger than I thought it would be, and the bedroom rivaled the size of my old apartment. The coolest thing about the bedroom was that it basically filled the entire width of the apartment, had a decent-sized bathroom (no tiniest shower in the world here), had a big closet, two nearly full-sized windows that let in an amazing amount of natural light, and one wall of exposed brick. The living room actually had the same exposed brick, but it just looked way cooler in the bedroom. Tile in the kitchen and bathroom, hardwood floors throughout the rest that were really gorgeous—it was an incredible space. And it had a fucking window air conditioner unit. It really didn't get any better. It felt like home walking in, and I think she felt the same. It had a certain feeling to the space that the other ones we looked at didn't have. Some of the others would have worked, but they just didn't feel _right_.

Move-in consisted of everyone both of us knew, and anyone else we knew by acquaintance that we could con into carrying a box into an elevator and down a hallway. There was also no feasible way to jam a mattress or box spring into an elevator in case anyone was wondering. Not that we tried that or anything. Or that Aidan and I had to haul the fuckers up four flights of stairs. I would never hear the end of that one. There was also the matter of a coffee table that may or may not have gotten stuck in said elevator. It took four of us to figure out how to get it out, and by the time we did, I was about two seconds away from breaking the fucking legs off to just get it in the goddamned apartment. There was also snow. And frigid temperatures. All-in-all, I would not suggest a move in New York City in early March.

So new apartment: excellent. Move-in: completed. Unpacking: epic clusterfuck.

Somehow between the excitement over moving into a new place, and the _Oh, shit, we have to unpack now_, two really significant things occurred—midterms and a sick girlfriend. The two should be mutually exclusive.

They both happened really fast, too. Midterms were just suddenly _there_ instead of looming, and it was safe to say I was pretty much freaking the fuck out. It had been a seriously long time since I had to worry about a midterm. The tests and the papers were bad enough, but grades tended to hinge on midterms and I was so not ok with that. What if I fucked it up? What if my mind went completely blank and I had absolutely no answers? What if I hadn't paid attention well enough? Then what? Why the fuck I let my advisor talk me into four classes that required a shitton of work, I'll never know. She should have known on sight that this was going to be hell on earth. Why hadn't she suggested a drama class, or music, or a fucking wellness class? Instead I was buried in _Foundations of Everything Under The Fucking Sun_, and writing. And writing. And more writing. And reading shit that wasn't even remotely relevant to anything ever.

Allison went from unpacking one day to laid up, flu-induced weakling the next. It seemed like it came completely out of nowhere but given that we'd moved in the middle of winter and she was exposed to god knows what while we were both severely stressed did not prove to be an agreeable mix. I was not well equipped to handle a sick girlfriend. I was not well equipped to handle a sick me, and getting sick before and in the midst of midterms was not an option at all. So I did the only thing that I knew how to do, and the only thing that seemed like a reasonable option. I called my mother.

Yup, I did the only thing a man stressed beyond belief while still needing to care for the person he loved could do: called in the parental cavalry.

In my defense, the second she got sick, Allison turned our apartment into a sectional quarantine zone. She stayed in the bedroom where all the germs lived, and I lived on the couch like any good college student should. I showered at Aidan's. I showered at school. I was forced to use Lysol spray like I was a complete germaphobe.

My mother was actually the one that made the diagnosis: high fever, fatigue, body aches, headache, dry cough, sore throat, runny nose, look of death = flu.

Flu quarantine + midterms = Misery.

I wasn't sure how life went from the most awesome time ever of excitement and living together alone to hell on earth, but it fucking sucked. I was being overly dramatic. I wasn't even the one that was sick. But the fact that we had a nicer couch did nothing to discount the gloom and desolation of sleeping on it alone for the better part of a week. Life just _blew. _And not in the fun _get blown_ way. I hadn't been blown in over a week.

At least my mother brought soup. I must have looked pitiful and stressed enough that I got some, too. Chicken noodle—comfort food of mothers everywhere and the pathetically sick or pathetically deprived and emotionally unstable.

The injustice of it all was sort of shattering. I anticipated moving and unpacking to involve a certain sense of _adventure_, of _romance_. Of swiping school books off the desk and fucking on it. Sex on every new surface. Sex in every room. Watching her make dinner in _our_ kitchen. Eating dinner at _our_ table. Fucking on _our_ table. Testing the shower. I hadn't even _seen_ the shower since we moved in.

Getting up and going to school was just depressing. This was definitely depression. Sick and sex-deprived depression.

After my second midterm, my trudge home seemed endless. And for the first time all week, the couch actually seemed appealing. I just wanted to melt into it and forget I had two more midterms, except I had a ton of shit to go over so that probably wasn't realistic. I was probably in for another night of cram and panic while looking longingly at the bedroom door. Maybe my mother left extra soup; that would be a happy surprise and an upturn to the otherwise dinner from a can I had planned. Allison would probably be sleeping, so I opened the door to the apartment as quietly as possible, and managed to shut it just as gently.

I plopped on the couch and put my head back. I think I deserved a nap before the cramming session. My head turned automatically towards the bedroom door, and I sighed.

"Tyler?"

I got up immediately, nearly colliding into the door. She still sounded awful, but at least she was awake. "Hey. You ok?"

"I'm ok, yeah."

"You need anything?"

"No. How was your test?"

I sighed, touching the door and running my finger in groove of the design, following the wood grain. I wanted to open it so badly. I just wanted to see her; talk to her like a normal person, not through a fucking door. I wanted to touch her. I wanted a hug. I wanted to feel her tiny hands and the way her head burrowed into my chest, and how everything was going to be ok regardless of midterms or anything else. I wanted to hold her because she was sick and bring her shit—all the stuff my mom was doing instead.

"Tyler?"

"Yeah, sorry. The test was fine I guess."

"You worried?"

"I miss you." I sounded _so_ pathetic. More pathetic than she did all sick and congested and nasal.

She sniffled. "I miss you, too."

"I wanna open the door."

"You can't get sick, Tyler."

Maybe I didn't care about being sick anymore. Maybe I wouldn't get sick. I sighed, and turned, sliding my way down the door until I was sitting. My head thumped back against the wood. "How are you feeling?" I asked.

"I feel a little better, I think. Are you avoiding my question?"

"No, not really."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"So?"

"I think it went ok. I dunno, it's over at least."

"How many more do you have?"

"Two."

"Halfway then."

Stop being so positive! Life sucks right now! "Did my mom stop today?"

"Yup. Like clockwork. Soup and juice and a resupply of tissues and more cough drops than all of New York City could use. And I finally took a shower today. That helped."

"That's good. I'm glad she's taking care of you." _Because I'm not…_

She knew what I meant of course without me saying it. "Tyler," she said, sighing. "I know you would."

"Yeah."

"So tell me about your day."

"Just the test. Sucky. Tell me about yours instead."

"Oh, I'm sure mine was much more thrilling than yours. I woke up to coughing and not being able to breathe through my nose. Then I proceeded to take a much needed shower because I'm disgusting, which totally wore me out, so I took a nap. Then your mom came and brought more wonderful soup and supplies, and I took massive quantities of over-the-counter medications. Then I fell asleep watching a movie. I felt a little less like dying and now you're here. Woo."

Just hearing her say that much was awesome. We hadn't exactly made a thing out of through-the-door-conversations, so that was probably the longest I'd heard from her in days. I was smiling like a fucking crazy man. "Oh, hey, you know that crazy lady that lives on the second floor? The one that, like, stalked us when we were moving in and looked all disapproving like we hadn't cleared it with her first?"

"Yeah."

"So I leave this morning and I get in the elevator, and she's already on it. Which is fucking weird already because she lives below us, right? So I dunno if she was just going for a little ride or if there was some purpose to her being on the elevator otherwise, but I had to ride down with her."

"Yeah. What did she do?"

"It wasn't really what she was doing; it was what she was wearing."

"What was she wearing?"

"A garbage bag."

"What?"

"Yep."

"Like, over her clothes?"

"Pretty sure it was her clothes."

"You're fucking with me."

"I'm not!" I pulled out my phone. "I covertly took a picture of the crazy for you. Just so I could prove that she did it." I texted it to her. "See? She made it into a dress—turned it upside down, cut a hole for her head and arms, and then cinched it on the bottom with the fucking drawstrings. They were red for Christ's sake. And she was just there like that was normal. To be wearing a garbage-bag-dress in the elevator of your apartment building."

"Holy fucking shit! She has tights on and everything! I'm afraid to ask what that hat is made out of."

"Yeah, I didn't ask."

"So did she get out with you?"

"Yep. I went to the door and she went down the hall. I think she might spend her days making trips all around the entire building. Like she's a hall monitor or something—with her special garbage-bag-dress uniform. She made the funniest sound when she walked with it on."

"Maybe it's insulating?"

"I don't fucking know, but I think we need to avoid her at all costs."

"I think you should have asked to take a picture with her."

"I think you should text me a picture of you so I can make sure she hasn't rubbed off on you. Maybe she had the flu once, too, and now she's all fucked in the head."

"I'm not taking a picture of myself, Tyler. I'm all gross."

"I wanna see," I whined.

"Then send me a picture of you first."

I complied immediately, my expression something completely unintelligible I'm sure, or one of those that looks incredibly intense when you try to take a self-portrait. "Done."

"Aww, you look tired, honey."

"Where's mine?"

My phone chimed and I pulled up the picture. It was of her hand only—flipping me off. I should have guessed that one. "Not fair!"

My phone chimed again and this time it was a picture of her boobs. "Mean!" I said quickly. "Better! But still mean!"

"Sick doesn't rock a lot of sexy."

"I'm sure you still look sexy. Is that my sweatshirt?"

"Of course."

"See, that's sexy regardless."

"Baby, I love you, but I'm getting kinda tired."

"Yeah, I should study anyway. And you should get back in bed instead of sitting on the floor with me."

"I'm glad we did, though."

"Me, too. Sleep well. Love you."

"Love you, too. Good luck with the studying."

"Thanks. Feel better soon."

"Think about what you wanna do when your tests are over. We should celebrate."

"Yes, celebrate my epic failure. Definitely."

"Just go fucking study and shut up."

I chuckled. "Night, baby. Lemme know if you need anything."

"Night."

~ooOoo~

Things to note for midterm studying:

Studying itself is a lofty and noble act. No one (or no one named Tyler anyway) can sustain focus for more than an hour.

"Breaks" can go drastically wrong, in which you wind up researching the merits of bananas as a super fruit that can be used for energy, and how that might affect one's sleep habits when mixed with Red Bull.

How does one decide to research bananas one might ask? The answer probably lies somewhere in the depths of sex-deprived depression mixed with girlfriend withdrawal, overdoses of mom-made soup and the need to find something to force oneself to stay awake.

…or it could have just been a random link entitled "Super Fruit: Bananas" that may or may not have been a suggested companion to CNN articles that certain individuals would be looking at as distraction from reality. (Focus can only be sustained for an hour or less).

Red Bull contains caffeine, taurine, glucuronolactone, B-group vitamins, sucrose, and glucose. Bananas are packed with vitamin A, iron, phosphorous, potassium and 3 natural sugars—sucrose, fructose and glucose. They offer a great source of natural energy. Research has proven that just 2 bananas can provide enough energy for a strenuous 90-minute workout. Energy is not the only thing that bananas have to offer, they can also help overcome or prevent a number of illnesses, including: depression, hangovers, quitting smoking, ulcers, anemia, while also boosting brain power and reducing stress. Why didn't Red Bull just bottle bananas? Bottled Banana sounded like an awesome brand name at 4am.

The research and consumption of many, many bananas and Red Bull also probably contributed to the dream (or fantasy perhaps) that I had in my lone hour of sleep after my third midterm (I pretty much crashed in an uncomfortable chair in the library). I imagined I came home after the midterm, ripped the bedroom door off (Sickness be damned! Manly noises of exertion!) and proceeded to wield incredible sexual powers, my virility a thing of legend. I may have outlined an entire plan for a diet of only bananas for both of us coupled with sex on the fire escape because there would be no reason we'd even feel the cold and even upon arrest, the banana/Red Bull combination coupled with my aforementioned sexual powers would in turn mean that no cell could hold us, and there was some serious fucking gonna happen here. Maybe being called a fuck god had added something to this whole scenario…

So with that in mind, and my plan firmly in place, I busted into our apartment, ready to throw open the bedroom door in a fit of sexual frustration and sex-crazed rage and… she was already on the couch.

"Hey."

I didn't even say anything to her. It was sort of like one of those cartoon bubbles over a characters head that just pops suddenly. I couldn't have cared less about my crazy banana-induced/sleep deprived ravings. I kinda just fell onto the couch and into her lap and reveled in the fact that she was _close_ and _here_ and _mine_ and I was _hers_.

"Are you feeling better?" I mumbled into the fabric of her shirt.

She chuckled, her fingers combing through my hair in a delicious way that made my neck tingle. "I am."

"Good."

"I have a question though."

"Mmm?"

"The fuck is with all these banana peels? The Red Bull cans I get. How many bananas did you eat?"

I meant to laugh, but it totally came out as a sigh instead. I didn't even want to explain. "Dunno. Super fruit."

"And your legs were broken? The garbage is, like, six feet away."

"S'not my fault."

"It's obvious I can't ever be sick again. You can't function."

"I can't. I need you. Badly." I meant it to come out _much_ more jokingly than it did. It totally came out as a statement (and slightly pathetic at that).

"How was your test?"

I snuggled closer to her and hummed an answer but I was already sort of drifting. I had another midterm to study for, too, but that didn't seem at all important. I could rest now instead.

~ooOoo~

**APOV**

I felt like such an _adult_. That was an odd feeling because I thought I was an adult forever basically. I couldn't really recall much of a childhood; so adulthood as I imagined and thought of it was an existence that lasted a helluva long time and was usually filled with nothing but negatives.

This though…this was being an adult:

Choosing to be in a relationship with someone—an honest, open, giving relationship.

Choosing to have a job that did not require me to take clothing off, or sell myself for money.

Choosing to _live_ with someone—to share a space, a home, a life.

Home. To have one at all and someone in it that I considered home more than the space itself.

These were quite possibly the best decisions I'd made in my life yet.

It was exciting; another level of new, another level of greatness in an ever-growing one with Tyler. He was going back to school, and I was so proud of him for toughing it out, for going to class, to actually doing the work that he was supposed to, for focusing so hard.

Moving when we did might not have been the best plan we ever had, but the timing was right for the apartment, and everything else sort of had to fall into line with it. I loved the space immediately; it was big enough for us and yet cozy and homey. And while I'd lived in other places, and had places that I considered mine, this seemed different. It seemed more mine. It seemed more like an actual place to make a home instead of someplace I just stayed. It made me think about what a _home_ even was. What that word really meant at its core.

I loved and hated lots of things about him going back to school. I loved that he wanted to be serious about it, but at the same time, it really left much less time for us to be together. My getting sick had only made that worse ten times over. I didn't want him to catch anything—he couldn't. It wasn't an option to take finals with the flu. And the move-in when we did was stressful enough around that same time. So my hiding in the bedroom for the better part of a week was necessary for him to stay healthy.

I wasn't really the type to get sick a lot. I suppose over the years you build a tolerance to normal illnesses especially if you're exposed to everything under the sun in foster homes. Any places where multiple children sleep and live are going to be breeding grounds for germs. But usually when I did get hit, it came on hard. This wasn't any different. I hadn't felt this horrible in a long fucking time.

It _was_ different this time to have someone take care of me. That was completely new, even in a foster sense. They simply didn't care enough or had too many kids to give special attention to one. They cared for basic needs only, or hell, sometimes not even that. Tyler's mom was both great and kind of a complete surprise. I certainly didn't expect her to visit me on a daily basis and make sure I was eating and getting enough rest and all the shit that _moms_ were supposed to do. It seemed like the stuff of fairy tales. And I couldn't help but wonder if my mom would have been that awesome at it, too. Maybe she would have brought me soup, and made sure I had enough tissues and cough drops, and as much over-the-counter medication as could be purchased at one time without the Feds thinking you were making methamphetamines. Maybe she would have tucked me into bed ridiculously even as an adult (and how awesome it was anyway).

At the same time, I felt incredibly _lonely_. It was an incredibly unreasonable and silly way to feel given that Diane visited daily and Tyler was literally only through a door. But he was unreachable, and untouchable, and it was the longest we'd gone without any kind of contact since we'd met basically. It wasn't just sex—even though it was the longest we'd gone without sex in a helluva long time, too. It surprised me how much I just missed him being in the bed with me—knowing his solid warmth was next to me. I missed just lying near him, a leg or an arm thrown over each other. I missed sloppy kisses and random touches and the feeling of his skin pressed to mine. I missed the intimacy of him. I missed the smell of him in the bed, on me, on my clothes.

We should have been fucking in and on everything in this apartment, and instead we were separated by a door that felt like the brick wall in our room. It was strange how much I missed him when he was just through a door. It was probably pathetic how much I loved talking to him through that door. It made me feel less isolated, even if that was ridiculous, too.

I probably shouldn't have opened the door. I probably should have stayed in my isolation until his finals were completely done. But I was feeling better and I really needed to just get out for a while. I could always go back into hiding before he came home. I emerged from the germ-filled bedroom to find basically a complete disaster in the living room. There were papers thrown everywhere and books mixed in, all spread around an enormous pile of banana peels and too many cans of Red Bull. _What the fuck?_ Did he spontaneously turn into a monkey in my absence? Didn't his mother leave him soup, too? He was a complete slob!

How he managed to study in this mess, I have no idea. Unless there was some system of organization here that made no logical sense to a girl…I hope he passed his finals. It was obvious he required constant supervision.

I so wasn't cleaning this shit up. That was all on him. I was still the sick one.

So I kinda vegged on the couch until he came home. It was probably mix of both lack of motivation to get up and go back to the isolation and a healthy amount of _I just need to see him_.

He kind of _threw_ the door open, and he looked _really _determined, both of which fell from his face immediately. Not sure what that was about, but when I said "Hey," he said nothing back, falling onto the couch with his head in my lap, snuggling in. I think he missed me, too.

"Are you feeling better?" he mumbled into the fabric of my shirt.

I chuckled, combing my fingers through his hair. "I am."

"Good."

"I have a question though."

"Mmm?"

"The fuck is with all these banana peels? The Red Bull cans I get. How many bananas did you eat?"

I think he meant to laugh, but he sighed instead. "Dunno. Super fruit."

Dork. The fuck? Super fruit? "And your legs were broken? The garbage is, like, six feet away."

"S'not my fault."

"It's obvious I can't ever be sick again. You can't function."

"I can't. I need you. Badly."

That came out much more like I felt, than like I think he wanted it to sound. _Me, too, baby._

"How was your test?"

Instead of answering me, he sort of hummed out something and just burrowed into me farther. I was pretty sure he had one more test to study for, but as I had him in my lap, and he was warm and _here_ and _mine_, with the full scent of just…Tyler, I was _home_ and I didn't really care at the moment. I'd wake him later to ask him if he needed to study. Right now napping with him on the couch seemed like a much better idea.

~ooOoo~

Napping was one of the best pastimes in the world. I was convinced. And waking up with him, even if my neck was all cramped from the weird angle I was resting my head at, or the fact that my arm had somehow wound up under _his_ head and was now all numb and pins and needles, felt amazing. It wasn't new but it kind of felt that way, even if it had only been a week or so.

I yawned while trying to get feeling back in my hand, and smiled while he woke up. "Let's go to bed."

He nodded, still half-asleep anyway, and we shuffled to the bedroom. I stopped in the doorway. "Hey, do you have to study yet?"

He shook his head. "Don't care about it right now. I'll look over it in the morning. I wanna go to bed."

No complaints there.

It occurred to me when I was turning the bed down that he hadn't actually spent much time in our bedroom. We sort of got everything in a place we vaguely wanted it and then I got sick, and he was on couch duty. The first night we hadn't even set up the bedframe, and just slept on the mattress and box spring on the floor. The second night we were too tired to do much of anything and just fell into a state of sleep wherever we managed to land on the bed.

We sort of went through the motions of getting ready for bed in that trance-like state that happens when you're tired but still have to brush and putting on some pajamas would be more comfortable and practical than sleeping in jeans. Or in my case, a cleaner pair of less sick-warmed-over pajamas. Like a clean pair of his boxers, which I suddenly realized I'd worn nearly the entire time his mother had been here, and I'd just try to forget that.

I was pretty wiped by the time we got under the covers. I wanted to feel him closer, though. I wanted to sleep with more contact, so we huddled together in the middle of the bed, and it was wonderful just to have him touching me.

I could feel him getting hard the more we just laid there. I brought my gaze up to meet his, smirking.

"Sorry. I can't help it. You're just here and…yeah. How're you feeling?"

I really didn't want to turn him down. I knew what he was really asking me. It had double meaning. He missed me, too. But I really wasn't feeling up to the entire sex thing. "Um, I mean, I feel better…" I trailed off.

He smiled, nuzzling into my cheek. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. I shouldn't even have asked. That wasn't very sensitive. You'll have to forgive me. I've spent a week on a couch with nothing but bananas and Red Bull…and some soup, but still. I have to acclimate to being an awesome boyfriend again."

I laughed. "What exactly were you doing with the bananas?"

He blew out his own laugh. "Sadly nothing more interesting than eating them. But it's fine, really."

"No, I mean, we can make out. Mess around. Just don't think I'm up to sex yet. It would be really unfortunate if I started coughing in the middle of it."

"Could be kinda sexy. Probably a lot of pressure and clamping. I'm into it."

I shook my head. "Shut up already and kiss me before I change my mind and just pass out in exhaustion."

He nodded once and that was pretty much all it took. And it was nice. Really nice. Lazy and intimate and kinda sleepy, but it was the best I'd felt in a week. I missed everything about him. I missed the firmness of his chest under my fingers, even the feel of the cotton of his T-shirts. It was completely senseless to enjoy the feel of worn cotton, but it was just something I associated with _Tyler_, that it made it that much better. I missed the feeling of his lips on mine; the warmth. His lips had gotten chapped this week. The weather must have been shitty and he licked them constantly despite the fact that it made them rough and sore. And he smelled _amazing._ Even sleeping on the couch for a week and who knows where or when the hell he showered. It was so appealing.

I'm pretty sure we fell asleep while still kissing, which I thought was pretty perfect, and an awesome end to a day I hadn't thought would be that good when it started.

~ooOoo~

When I'd been sick, it was like time completely stood still, or it ticked by so fucking slowly that it seemed that way. The last three weeks though had been completely the opposite. More like a whirlwind—probably how it should have been if I hadn't caught the moving-plague.

Or maybe it just had more to do with being with Tyler again. That first night I felt decent enough to emerge from the pit of illness, we decided not to have sex…which lasted until I woke up in the middle of the night with his hand between my legs and then we had the laziest, most relaxing, spooning-sleepy-sex ever. He had one more midterm to finish and then he was free for an entire week and spring break was _awesome._ We did everything we should have done from the beginning that my illness had prevented: we unpacked, we argued over which side of the counter the toaster was going to go on—because we could _do that kind of shit now_. We put dishes away and bought kitchen gadgets we'd never use but obviously needed anyway. We debated over rearranging where we'd put the couch but then decided in the middle of it, we didn't care because fucking on it was way more important. We burned our way through every surface of the entire apartment and fucked the hell out of it. Tyler dorkily and typically called this a "Spatial christening." It was a really important step to apartment ownership.

We settled into a _routine_. Not that we hadn't been in a routine when we lived in his apartment, but it was still different. I stayed at his place then. We had a routine that revolved around me staying at his place. This was us actually living together, in our place. It was something I didn't really get when we moved in because I didn't have time to appreciate what it was when we were separated. It was different, though—completely sharing this space with another person. Not that it was a negative thing in any way, but there is no getting away from that other person. There was no other apartment to go to, and you have to adapt to this lack of independence without actually losing your own independence. It wasn't like I felt like I lost anything; it was just… there was no hiding anything from each other. No secrets, no mystery. It was sort of freeing in its own backwards way. After that first week, our routine was very domestic. It didn't revolve around just sex, and sometimes laundry was just laundry, we didn't fuck all over the washing machine. He made coffee in his boxers while I started breakfast. It was a comfort level I didn't think I'd ever really enjoy: the comfort of routine and familiarity, of security.

This morning, I was only half-awake in the warm cocoon of our bed, but it was like I could sense it before I woke fully. I wanted Tyler. I could smell him on the sheets, inhale the scent of his shampoo from the pillow, the way the softness of the sheets seemed magnified. There was just one problem: he wasn't in the bed. He wasn't here, and I wanted him.

Fuck if I wasn't going to go get him.

He was on the couch, just sitting there in a T-shirt and boxers, a video game controller wedged in his hand. There were schoolbooks and papers scattered and discarded on the table. It was a weekend, and that was obviously not as important at the moment. A Pringles container sat open next to a can of Diet Coke—breakfast of champions for a college student. At least it was better than Red Bull and bananas.

"Hey," he said, absently, eyes still on the screen.

I straddled his lap without any actual greeting, but I'm fairly certain I mumbled a "Morning," before I snuggled into his chest. He 'mmm-ed' back at me, and adjusted his arms to both snuggle with me while still keep playing. I inhaled deeply, the scent from the sheets so much stronger here, and sighed in this ridiculously happy way. He settled back more, resting his head on the back of the couch, and it gave me ridiculously easy access to his neck, and I didn't stop myself from kissing him there. His eyes were still on the screen, but his breathing changed, and I heard the game stop abruptly, like he'd pressed pause.

He hummed back at me, but I shook my head, pressing my lips to his mouth quickly. "No, you can keep playing." He tasted like cheesy salted potato chips, and like most things, it was oddly attractive, or maybe it was oddly endearing. It didn't really matter because I had already moved on, and getting him inside me was way more important.

The game started again, and I went back to his neck. He wouldn't be able to keep playing if I was kissing his mouth, and his neck was the next best thing. I started off with gentle kisses, lapping at the skin there, but the longer I was there, the more I got into it, and I was _seriously_ sucking on his neck. We're talking hickeys of epic proportion—a mix of red and purple and I was totally burrowed in there. It was addictive. The smell, the taste of his skin, salty in a completely different way—everything I would have done to his mouth if I could reach it without him losing his playing power—lips, tongue, teeth.

He was so hard under me, and it was so easy to just slip him out of the boxers. It was even easier to get him inside because I wasn't wearing anything except his T-shirt. I didn't want to waste time this morning getting rid of clothing. Faster this way.

I couldn't really explain my mind frame. I knew two things: I wanted him and I was going to have him. Everything else beyond that was useless. The rest just amounted to and became about the way I felt, what I was feeling, what I was doing to feel it. Just moments of awareness and the rest all my senses processing what being with him like this felt like. Want, Have, Take.

The feeling of him stretching me as I sunk down on him. The way it sounded like the moans we both let out were competing with each other in volume. I smiled into his skin as he breathed out, "Aw, fuck it," and I think the game was forgotten. Sex wins.

My wetness coating his cock and thighs.

His fingers curling around my hip, the solidness of his body beneath me.

My head thrown back, my hands landing on his shoulders; the sound of our bodies connecting as I rode him harder.

My hands on his neck as I pulled myself closer to him, bouncing as he pushed deeper, further inside me.

Shifting to ride him higher, closer still, my clit grinding against him as I rocked back and forth.

Circling my hips until it felt like he rubbed every possible spot inside me.

I felt sexy. Truly sexy. It was so energizing and releasing.

I came quickly, and I think it surprised both of us. It was just so intense and focused, or at least I was.

Using his body to push myself there.

My whole body shuddered into him, my hands clasping on the back of his head, holding him to me, and the force of it was incredible. I felt like I was coming apart, but instead I think I was connecting together.

His hand moved to my back as he came, and I went back to his neck, licking over the marks I'd made on his skin. I'd been very thorough; he'd be wearing these for _days_. I nipped at his Adam's Apple and curled into him, breathing heavily. The controller was still gripped tightly in one of his hands. I loved that he was either too shocked or too invested that he hadn't even thought to let it go.

"Fuck."

"Totally."

"That was _so_ hot."

I backed up. "Yeah?"

"You've never done that before."

"No? No, I guess not."

"Hot." He nodded.

"I am my own person, you know."

"Of course you are."

I giggled. "I totally fucked you!"

His smile was so amazing; like pure happiness and pride and love and awe and the tiniest amount of smugness all wrapped into one. "You totally did."

I sighed contentedly. "I think you died," I said, jerking my thumb in the direction of the TV.

"Who cares?"

~ooOoo~

**TPOV**

It's certainly not every day that you find yourself with a lapful of horny girlfriend right in the middle of playing a video game. In fact, it's never been that day until today. I've had plenty of lapful of horny girlfriend, but never the kind that was totally going to get herself off while I still kept playing.

I'm not sure exactly what prompted it or brought it on, but to say I was surprised would be an understatement. The fact that she still surprised me thoroughly was just testament to how much more I loved her every single day.

She looked so adorably peaceful that I couldn't bear to wake her once I couldn't sleep anymore. So I did what any 20-something college student should do on a weekend: wile away hours of what could be productive homework time by playing something incredibly pointless and violent instead.

I was all set up. I had my provisions and caffeine, and I was good to go. I noticed her coming towards me of course. It wasn't uncommon for her to plop down on the couch and watch me kill things for a while, asking questions about the game or joining in sometimes, so I wasn't actually paying _that_ close attention to her.

I didn't need to though, because instead of the plopping next to me, she was basically making out with me from the second she was in my lap. And what's hotter than Allison wearing my boxers? Wearing nothing but a T-shirt, cuddling for half a second and then kissing my neck until I wanted nothing more than to throw the controller at the screen. Except…she told me to keep playing—as though me playing was completely tangential to anything she had planned. Or rather, anything I might have thought about was completely tangential to whatever she was going to do.

The girl had a _plan_.

Also focus on anything is pretty much nil when she's basically devouring my neck. We're not talking laving the skin with peppery licks and kisses—we're talking full-on _serious_ devouring like she'd never had anything better. It _hurt_. And I couldn't get enough of it. I had no idea what the fuck I was going to tell people. The truth probably. Heh.

I think she must have been wet from basically the bedroom on, or at least it seemed that way. It wasn't like disjointed or hurried really. It was purposeful. I could keep playing while she just got off. She was just… She was taking me. She was doing this for herself. She woke up and she wanted this. So she was taking it. It was fine that she was so focused on herself, because I don't think I could have articulated at all what this meant if she was in a talkative mood. I don't think she was even consciously aware of the level she was reaching here.

If there was any remote possibility that playing was possible, it was over when the noises started. Because her face was lodged by my neck, they were incredibly concentrated _right in my ear_. It's basically like having horny girlfriend radio in surround sound. It started slow, and quiet, just small little gasps of air and exhales as she started to move on me, but it quickly spiraled to something much louder and much more involved. The faster she moved, the more pronounced her moaning got, mixed in with these needy kind of whimpers as she shifted herself on me to get the angles she wanted. She was loud in bed sometimes, and sometimes I think she was loud for me—this though, this was different—this sound was desire, indulgence, and gratification all mixed together, and it was for herself.

The noises really made me want to just pick her up and move this to the bed. But this wasn't about me right now, or what I wanted to do to her.

At the same time, I couldn't really help it—I grabbed her ass with the hand that was not still holding the controller and started kneaded. Part of me didn't want to upset any balance she had going on—I didn't want my changing something to change what she was doing. So I suppose I held onto the controller just to keep the field the way it had started but…there had to be some active participation here on my part. And the second I did, the more amplified her moans got, the faster and harder she moved on me—her hands on my shoulders, cupping my neck—like that simple action further spurred her on.

When she leaned back, her eyes were closed, and her hair was partially covering her face, but it fit—she looked untamed but completely natural, bare but completely uninhibited, enthusiastic but focused. It was incredible and staggering to watch.

She collapsed into me when she was finished, her breath hot against my neck, and holding her this way felt just as intimate as being inside her. As her breathing slowed, she started kissing my neck again, but softer and more languid than before, nuzzling and kissing gently over the skin until I turned my head and met her lips. I loved the feeling of her hands on me anytime, but at times like this, it was almost a surreal feeling—one tightening on the back of my neck while the other stretched the neck of my t-shirt. When she pulled back, she pressed her forehead to mine and I didn't really have words for how that made me feel. It was usually my move, and I considered it an incredibly significant piece of intimacy between us—a kind of connection that wasn't necessarily sexual, but loving and affectionate, tender.

I didn't want to patronize her and explain it away after, so I just commented and let it go. She could just revel in the idea of having what she wanted. Maybe at some point she'd realize exactly what it was, but she was just content at having conquered this want of hers. I think she was proud, though. Or she knew that I was proud of her for something. I didn't deserve credit for any of the things she had done while with me, but that didn't stop me from realizing that a lot of what I'd shown her about love was making an impact.

…and then like that damn cartoon bubble bursting again, she was just gone. And off my lap. Completely unceremoniously. I was halfway to saying, "Wha?" because she was putting a pair of my boxers on that were on the floor from God knows when.

"Get your ass up."

Well this was obviously an invitation. "Bed then, yes?"

"Pffft, no. Pringles and soda at 10:00 am are shameful, and should be illegal. We're making breakfast because I feel like you haven't truly eaten anything decent since the incident I'm referring to as Banana-Red Bull week."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"It's not likely, no. 8-Ball indicates your changes are really fucking slim."

"If you're making breakfast can you at least lose the boxers again?"

"_We_ are making breakfast. _We_. And no, that's not sanitary."

"Well it wasn't sanitary when I ate—" she covered my mouth with her hand. I let my eyebrows raise for a second before I gently pried her hand away, "—but we still eat there."

"Can you please get the eggs out of the fridge?"

I huffed, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I don't like this. Twenty minutes ago there was Mario and sex, and now you're all fully clothed and bossy. What happened? Where did I go wrong?"

She rolled her eyes at me as I backed up towards the refrigerator. "Eggs. Please."

The confidence and annoyance mixed together just compelled me to go over to her. I cupped her face and kissed her gently, but for long enough that both of our eyes were closed. When I pulled away, I caressed her cheek with one finger and asked, "Eggs?"

She smiled back at me, nodding. "Please."

We shifted around each other in the kitchen, me getting the eggs while she got a bowl and Bisquick. I grabbed a pan and started to melt the butter in the pan while she mixed the batter next to me. "Do you want to set the table?"

I shook my head. "You set it."

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do while I set the table?"

I nodded to the bowl with the batter. "I'm going to make the pancakes."

She laughed loudly. "Oh you are, huh? Ok."

"What? I've watched you like a hundred times."

She nodded. "Go for it." And slapped my ass as she moved to get dishes.

"That was so sexist. I could sue for sexual harassment."

"Go ahead and try. I'd love to see that one."

Let's just say she was done setting the table and I was sort of still attempting to pour the batter in the pan. She came back and stood behind me, her body pressing into mine, her arms slinking around my waist, fingers linking over my stomach, her head craning around my shoulder. There wasn't much to see except one sort of large blob of batter that was supposed to be several pancakes. Instead, I put way too much in and they all bled together. "Shit."

She didn't laugh or joke about it, just unlinked her hands and rubbed over my stomach. "It's ok. Just toss it and try it again. Little less batter this time. Or not as many pancakes. Start with just trying one."

So I did that, with her hands warm over my stomach, her tiny body just as warm behind me. I could tell she wasn't watching anymore, her face pressed into my back, and her breathing quiet. I covered her hand with mine, linking our fingers together instead while I finished the pancakes.

I almost didn't want to move when they were done. It was incredibly comfortable just being with her in our kitchen like this. It was certainly not the Saturday morning I had anticipated. I was with her completely, but she was with herself, too, and she wasn't running from it anymore, and even though I was pretty sure these pancakes were slightly burnt, and not at all like hers would have been, it didn't really even matter anymore. The experience was worth way more than the result.

I gripped her fingers tighter, pulling her out of her lull behind me. "You ready, babe?"

"Hmm?" She nuzzled into my back, sighing.

"I think the pancakes are done. Or they're as done as they're going to be with me making them. You ready?"

~Finis~

* * *

Thanks everyone!


End file.
